


The Light at the End

by pelespen



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M, Het, SWS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-25
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pelespen/pseuds/pelespen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <div class="center"><img/><br/>____spacer____<p><i>Sirius returns from the veil after seven years. It takes Hermione's intelligence to glean what's wrong with him, but it's her heart that must heal him.</i></p></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and their canon histories belong solely to JK Rowling and Scholastic. I am making no money from this.

"I want to move out." Ginny's voice was gentle but firm.

"What?! Why?" Harry turned from the ancient kitchen counter where he was pouring himself a cup of tea.

"He's not getting any better with us here, and well... I just don't feel comfortable with the idea of bringing our child home to... this." She waved her hands around vaguely.

"What do you mean, to 'this'?" His voice held a note of defensiveness.

She sighed. "Look around us, Harry – even without the mood swings and drinking habits of your godfather, Grimmauld Place is not where I want to raise our child."

Harry's jaw clenched briefly, but when he saw the pleading look on his pregnant wife's face, he knew this wasn't just another argument about Sirius's behaviour. Ginny was right. He was going to be a father soon, and much as he hated having to make a choice, his new family had to come first.

He sunk into the chair next to his wife and sighed. "Who's going to take care of him, though? He's going to be here all alone again."

"Harry, Sirius is a grown man, and - "

"She's right, Harry." Sirius's tone was bitter and resigned as he entered the kitchen. "I am a grown man and I can take care of myself."

He gave a thin smile, his eyes flicking to Ginny's swollen belly. He nodded, adding softly, "And Grimmauld is no place for a child to grow up. I should know."

"But, Sirius - " Harry tried to interject, but he was stopped.

"Harry, if I have to, I will throw you out. You need to focus on your family – _your_ family now. I'll be fine."

Harry stared at his godfather for a long moment, frowning. _What a load of shite,_ he thought angrily. Sirius had been back for three months, and he'd barely left the house for anything more than restocking his liquor cabinet. Harry knew he could never fully understand what his godfather had been through, but Sirius didn't seem interested in even trying to - well, to _live_. He vacillated between sullen brooding and drunken rages, both usually within the confines of his bedroom, but the latter Harry and Ginny frequently heard from all the way down on the first floor.

Still, Harry had stayed, hoping against hope that Sirius would snap out of it, would want to actually participate in life. But even his motorcycle - Harry's welcome-back gift to Sirius, sat untouched in the back alley. Once they left Grimmauld Place, there would be no one else to try and help Sirius.

And now, he was essentially being kicked out with a last subtle "fuck you." Deep down he knew that, while in theory the reasons they should leave were valid, this was more about Sirius' bizarre desire to stay shut away from everyone.

Combined with an underlying dislike that had formed between his godfather and his wife.

Harry just shook his head and muttered, "Well, nice to see you two finally agree on something."

He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Ginny and Sirius in a tense silence. They didn't like each other - they both knew it, but they at least tried to keep things civil, for the sake of peace, and for Harry's happiness.

In a last-ditch attempt to show some normal kind of emotion, Sirius smiled sadly at his godson's wife. "I'd like to help, if I mqy. I know Harry has plenty of money, but it would please me to have some things for the baby sent to your new home."

Ginny looked down at her hands on the table. "That would be nice. I'm not sure how Harry would feel about it right now, but I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture at some point."

Sirius chuckled under his breath and shook his head to himself. Despite her blandly gracious words, he knew full well what Ginny Potter thought of him. He'd _heard _her, heard them, every time, no matter how softly they whispered. He could hear every muted argument between her and Harry and every not-so-muted rant session Ginny had with her mother, on the rare occasion the Weasley matriarch came to Grimmauld. She was becoming more and more like Molly every day; Sirius only hoped it was just pregnancy hormones, for his godson's sake.

Most of the time, he couldn't bring himself to feel hurt by it. Usually he was too busy trying to drown them out, drown everything out. Still, while he couldn't give a rat's arse what the two Weasley witches thought of him, it pained him to hear Harry come to his defence every time, excusing his irrational behaviour and reclusive tendencies. Harry understood nothing, just like everyone else, yet he still hung around, waiting fruitlessly. Sirius couldn't stand it.

Sometimes he hated them all, hated everything. He hated being able to hear their whispers three floors up, he loathed the piercing laughter and occasional raised voices, and most of all the godforsaken wireless that was always tuned to some grating nonsense whenever the redhead was in the house. The food they made tasted like salt and sand - Sirius wondered if it was him, or if Ginny really had failed to pick up her mother's finest skill. But Harry seemed to stomach the stuff well enough, silverware screeching across dishes, lips smacking noisily until Sirius wanted to retch. And he loathed how they insisted on having the curtains pulled in the parlour, although thankfully most of the house was designed to be dimly lit and shadowy.

Most of all, though, he hated the smell.

For the most part it was just the girl. Something about the flowery-fruity perfume she wore, or perhaps it was just her shampoo, combined with her natural chemistry, setting his teeth on edge. In all fairness, he wasn't crazy about the smell coming off his godson either, but in Sirius's nastier moods he attributed that to the lingering scent of Ginny that clung to him.

No, Harry could never understand. Better just to let him believe his godfather had returned from the "dead" as a sociopath and an alcoholic, rather than try to explain. Sirius cringed at the thought of the pity and obligation that would result if Harry knew.

As he headed back up to the fourth floor, Sirius could hear Harry slamming things around in the room he shared with his wife. He paused, struggling briefly with the impulse to try and make things right. Sighing resolutely, he continued to the dark confines of his bedroom and private study.


	2. Chapter 2

~oOo~

He couldn't take it.

Cursing himself for his own stupidity and pride, Sirius threw back another shot, wincing at the foul taste that never seemed to diminish.

A patronizing sigh emerged from one of the few paintings in the house that didn't feature a human occupant. Sirius looked up to see Phineas Nigellus sneering at him, casually tossing a ruby red apple he'd plucked from the bowl of fruit featured in the artwork. Sirius shifted angrily away from his deceased relative, chair legs barking against the kitchen floor as he did so.

He poured and slammed another shot and thought blackly about his predicament.

He wouldn't crawl. He refused to go to Harry and ask them to come back. He couldn't be that pathetic - or selfish. Bitterness may have coloured his words at the time, but they still rang true: Harry needed to move on and start building a better life with his new family, not waste his time waiting on a demented godfather to miraculously become human again.

Another shot, frustration at its lack of effect. _Why the bloody hell wasn't it helping?_ All he wanted was some dullness, to not feel strangled and scratched by something as simple as a fucking shirt.

He snarled, yanking the tee shirt over his head, then shivered when the cold air hit his skin.

Now, instead of annoying whispers and overheard conversations, the sounds of his environment grated at him. The soft creaks of the house settling at night, acorns falling on the roof of the back porch, the slam of a car door five houses down - all sounded like gunshots to him. The silence was worse, reminding him of the nothingness that made him this way.

He reached the bottom of the bottle, and still - nothing. Not even drunk.

The growl that had been building as he paced the kitchen finally broke loose as he hurled the empty bottle at the kitchen wall, taking a kind of twisted pleasure in the painful sound it made as it shattered.

"Hello? Is anyone home?"

_Fuck._

Someone decidedly female had managed to enter the front door of the old mansion. And here he was without even a fucking wand. Sirius had assumed that with Harry and Ginny gone, there was no one left with any call to come to Grimmauld Place, thus he never gave a second thought to magical defense. He still hadn't made it to Ollivander's for a new wand, since his old one hadn't made the return trip with him.

"Hello?" The voice came closer, with clean, soft-sounding steps in the hallway, softer than he was used to. She was heading toward the kitchen, and he'd be damned if he'd be caught hiding in the dark from some bird. If she was an enemy and took him out, well, he supposed he'd be out of his misery once and for all.

He pushed the kitchen door open and climbed the stairs up to the dimly lit front hallway.

The first thing Sirius noticed was the obvious, especially to a man who'd been marooned from humanity for half his life: whoever this witch or woman was, she was beautiful. Not "gorgeous" in the centerfold-piece-of-meat sort of way, though he could imagine if she was dressed for the part she'd easily fit the bill. But beautiful nonetheless – dark curls spilling from the clasp at her neck, tall and slender with curves in the right places, angelic face with the kind of lips that inspired filthy thoughts. She was dressed like a Muggle, but nicely so, and she didn't have a wand in her hand which made him even more uncertain as to how she got in.

Even more odd, she looked at him with only mild curiosity, as if she had every right in the world to be waltzing into his house uninvited.

Sirius frowned. His voice low with a note of warning, he demanded, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

The female cocked her head at him then, her lips slowly turning up into a delighted smile.

"Sirius?" she asked softly, although she seemed to already know the answer; a split second later she let out a small squeal and ran to him, throwing her arms around him unabashedly.

He stood frozen for a moment, completely taken aback. Then, _she _began permeating his senses. Her silk blouse was cool and soothing against his chest and arms, and her body... _Merlin, _it felt amazing to be touched and held by this strange creature. Sirius wrapped his arms around her, taking advantage of the chance to feel... feel something good for once.

He let out a silent sigh. She even smelled good. He was starting to think it wasn't possible – everyone he'd been in close proximity to had such an unpleasant stench to them until now.

Something in his senses quirked as he inhaled her scent again. Something familiar.

Sirius quickly prodded his sensory memory, and it hit him.

"Hermione," he whispered finally.

She pulled back from him in response, an amused grin lighting her lovely features. "You just now recognized me, but you let me throw myself at you in the meantime?"

Something of his old self stirred in him just then. He felt an unfamiliar pull in his face before realizing he was smiling, really smiling.

"Now, love," he replied, "I never was one to deny a pretty witch, you should know that."

Even in the dim light of the hallway, Sirius caught the blush that painted her cheeks as she looked down at his bare torso and then away, dropping her arms. He suddenly and foolishly realized that he was just flirting with Hermione Granger, his godson's best friend.

Clearing his throat and taking a step back, he asked, "Can I get you a cup of tea?" steering her towards the parlour.

Once she was settled with a couple of smaller lamps lit, Sirius returned to the kitchen. Quickly pulling his shirt back on, he set about cleaning up the mess of shattered glass from his tantrum while waiting for the kettle to boil.

After waiting longer than she was used to tea taking, Hermione peeked into the old kitchen to see what Sirius was up to. She heard the scraping of glass across stone floor coming from the corner and spied him crouching with a dustpan and broom, muttering under his breath.

"Sirius, what are you doing?" she asked, allowing herself a split second to admire the slope of his muscled back and strong shoulders before reminding herself just whom she was ogling.

He leaned back on his haunches, flipping his black hair out of his eyes as he looked up at her with a half smile.

"I ah, had a small accident just before you arrived. Careful of the glass over there." He nodded to a pile of broken whiskey bottle remains in the corner by the door.

Her lips twitched quizzically. "I see that, but why are you doing it that way?"

Sirius looked down at the broom and dustpan in his hands. 

_Damn_. 

"Oh, my wand isn't... down here. Just thought I'd take care of it this way's all," he answered.

The water in the teakettle started roiling, steam billowing from the hole where the lid would have gone, so he stood to fill their mugs. Hermione shook her head and cleaned the mess with a wave of her wand.

"Thanks," he said, smiling sheepishly over his shoulder.

As they headed back into the parlour, Sirius noticed the luggage in the hallway.

"What's with the suitcases?" he asked.

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "Erm, I just finished my residency in the States, and I'm not due to start at Hogwarts for another month, so Harry said I could stay here in the meantime. Didn't he tell you?"

_Bloody hell_, Sirius thought. He decided to skim over the larger concern but answered her question honestly.

"He probably did, but... I'm afraid I haven't been the best at paying attention or remembering things," he admitted.

She smiled warmly. "I suppose that's to be expected. It's just good to have you back. I was so excited when I finally got the news. How long has it been?"

"Since I got back?" he asked. "A little over three months. When did you find out?"

"Only a few weeks ago," she said. "Communication's a little spotty over there. The Bureau has a lot tighter regulation than we do."

Sirius chuckled and shook his head. "The 'Bureau'? What the hell were you doing in America, anyway?"

Hermione blinked and reminded herself it was unlikely Harry would have had much to say about her to Sirius.

"Well," she began, "after the war, I studied as a Healer. I finished up training in a couple of years and was about to sign on as a MediWitch for St. Mungo's, but a new exchange program opened up that would let me train in America as well. Their schooling system is quite different from ours – very modern, and includes some Muggle medicine and emergency care. Not enough to earn a full doctorate, but enough to incorporate a lot of new practices to benefit both worlds during emergencies. I'm beginning a teaching position at Hogwarts this year with a new course in Healing Fundamentals for sixth- and seventh- years."

She paused at the unreadable look on Sirius' face and cleared her throat. "...But I suppose that's probably more than you needed to know."

"What?" He shook his head at her. "No – it's just... you're..."

"...Not a kid anymore?" she finished for him, smiling.

_Not quite what I was going to say,_ he thought, _amazing, incredible, beautiful, perhaps..._

"I supposed not," he agreed lamely. "So how long have you been away?"

Hermione looked down at her hands. "Three years," she replied quietly, wondering to herself if it was long enough.

While she was secretly grateful for the chance to delay the inevitable, it was getting late, so she asked, "So, where are Harry and Ginny, anyway?"

"Well …" He hesitated, taking a deep breath and looking away. "They've moved out, actually," he answered.

Sirius hazarded a glance at Hermione and cringed at the look on her face.

"Oh..." she replied in a small voice, "I see. I – how silly and presumptuous of me, I'm so sorry to bother you like this, Sirius. I... I'll get a hotel..."

"What?" It was more an exclamation than a question. "You'll do no such thing! There's more than enough room in this house, Hermione. Too much room for one person, I might add."

She gave him a doubtful look, so he pressed on while trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "The entire second floor is yours if you'd like. The main bedroom might need some dusting, but it has its own bathroom and everything. Really," he added softly. "Stay."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. She was mortified, touched, and hurt at the same time. "Thank you," she whispered.

Sirius visibly relaxed back into his chair. "I suppose there was no way for anyone to tell you. It was rather short notice, after all."

"What happened? I don't understand why-?" she asked. Harry had kept Grimmauld Place after the war, and while he'd mentioned in his letter that he returned the title to Sirius upon his return from the Veil, she'd been under the impression they were still going to live there.

"Well, you know Ginny's quite far along by now," Sirius explained. "And... understandably, she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of bringing their child home to this dark, old place to raise it."

Hermione hummed and responded with a mutter. "Some of Molly's wonderful influence I'm sure."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise but couldn't suppress a small smile before continuing diplomatically. "Perhaps, but I'm inclined to agree. This is no place for a child. A fresh start would be good for them. It's really for the best – Harry needs to focus on his own family, now."

Sirius stood up to take their empty cups to the kitchen. "They're staying in a little flat downtown while the work is finished on their new house in Godric's Hollow, so they're not on the floo network yet. I'll get you their address in the morning, hm?"

Hermione nodded and forced a small smile, secretly relieved. As she looked up at Sirius, her eyes lingered over the blue tee shirt stretching across his expanse of chest before traveling over his neck, bearded jawline, those lips that were full but still so masculine, and then finally meeting his eyes, which were watching her closely. The intensity of his gaze made her feel like a cornered mouse. Neither of them moved for a moment as they regarded each other as simply man and woman, forgetting briefly the ties and boundaries of family and friends.

_Merlin, was he always this handsome? _

A small muscle twitched in his jaw, distracting her just enough to break their staring contest. Her lips quirked as she looked away.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, reaching for her teacup.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "You look younger than I remember, Sirius. And I like the beard." She grinned now, feeling somewhat triumphant with her own daring.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He shook his head with a low chuckle before turning away. "Go upstairs and pick out your room, little girl. I'll bring your things up in a bit."

She felt a warm flush at the way he called her 'little girl', the tone implying anything but fatherly affection.

Pushing the thought away, she ascended the familiar old staircase and poked her head into the room off the landing she and Ginny once shared in her fifth year. It had been changed, the two small twin beds removed and replaced with a four-poster king-sized bed. Hermione wrinkled her nose, realizing it was probably Harry and Ginny's former master suite. She continued up the stairs to the second floor and found a less familiar bedroom at the end of the hallway with a connected bathroom that would suit her needs. She lit a few lamps and cast several cleaning charms to make it livable for the evening, deciding to pick up some fresh bed linens tomorrow.

"Andromeda used to stay in this room when we were children. 'Bella and Cissy' always took the ones on the third floor."

Hermione jumped a little at the sound of Sirius' voice. She frowned quizzically when she noticed he'd carried her luggage up the stairs by hand, yet she hadn't heard him at all. She watched as he gently set her belongings inside the door and turned to go.

"Thank you again, Sirius," she said softly.

He paused without turning back. "It's nice to have you here, Hermione," he replied, before slipping out into the hallway.


	3. Chapter 3

~oOo~

Hermione awoke with a start, some time in the dark, early hours of the morning. She didn't know why until she heard it again. Somewhere from above came an almost inhuman moan, then a male voice crying out in agony. Her heart jumped. _Sirius._

Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, she grabbed her wand and crept into the hallway. More sounds, less sharp but just as unpleasant, drifted down from the fourth floor. Hermione padded as quickly and softly as she could in her bare feet up the stairs. When she reached Sirius' bedroom door, she paused, wondering briefly if she was mistaken and not wanting to walk in on something else that would cause odd noises in the middle of the night. Her thoughts were answered by an almost dog-like whimpering and a guttural "No..." from the other side of the door.

She bit her lip and slowly opened the door, cringing at the vision before her, but setting about quickly to help.

The moonlight seeped through the partially closed curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering enough light to make her way to Sirius' bathroom. She dampened a washcloth and crept to the huge bed where he lay, covered in sweat, sheets tangled around him. He arched off the mattress, another agonized moan escaping him, his lips pulled back tight in a painful grimace.

"Shhhh..." Hermione whispered, easing herself gently onto the bed and softly brushing the hair from his forehead. He was ice cold, so she did a quick charm to warm the cloth in her hands before gently bringing it to his face. "Sirius," she murmured soothingly. "Sirius, it's all right, I'm here, it's just a dream..." she cooed to him while tenderly caressing his face, shoulders and torso with soft fingers and the warm cloth.

He quieted down relatively quickly, his body relaxing a bit, still tense but no longer racked by whatever was haunting him. Hermione continued her care of him, whispering reassuringly as she worked to bring him to a state of calm, hopefully without ever waking him up.

As Sirius' breathing slowed and the tension drained from him, Hermione set the washcloth aside and rested her hand lightly on his chest. She sat there for several moments, still lightly stroking his brow as she felt his heart beat normalize under her fingers. She took the opportunity to study his features unhindered, her fingertips absently following her eyes over his forehead, down his temple, across his cheek and over his bearded jawline where the coarse hair tickled her fingers.

He really did look younger than she remembered, although she suspected that was more a result of her own growing up than anything. There were still tiny creases at the corners of his eyes. And his lips – she hesitated, wondering what they felt like. They looked soft, yet lacked the smooth perfection of youth.

With a soft intake of breath, Sirius' eyes suddenly fluttered open, glinting silver. Hermione started to pull away, straightening slightly, when a strong hand grabbed her wrist and held it in place.

"Don't-" he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse as he leaned his face into her touch, closing his eyes again as he sighed.

She relaxed her hand against him, understanding, and continued to lightly stroke his face as he lay back into his pillow. As she watched his acute reaction to her gentle touch, her heart broke a little. _What must it be like to go through this alone, and for how many times?_ She knew if he were even slightly more conscious, he'd be furious with her for overstepping the boundaries of his pride, but she didn't care. She'd deal with that if and when it came up, and she'd do it again however many times were necessary.

Hermione stayed until well after Sirius' breathing had deepened and she was certain he was in a heavy sleep.

When the darkness began its slow fade from the room, letting in the first paleness of daybreak, she eased herself up from the edge of the bed. She paused, looking down at the dark-haired wizard who was still slept peacefully. He deserved so much more, she thought, leaning over and pressing her lips to his forehead before quietly exiting his bedroom.

Hermione bypassed her new quarters and headed toward the kitchen. She'd completely missed dinner the night before, and now her stomach was rumbling. She moved silently through the old basement room, assessing the current inventory with disappointment. Frowning in frustration, she wondered what Sirius had been doing for food. Finally giving up, she returned to her room and dressed as quietly as possible. She made up a quick list and slipped out of the house, hoping fervently that the little grocer two blocks up that she remembered from her last stay at Grimmauld was still there.

~oOo~

Sirius awoke to a painfully bright light spreading across his bed from the open curtains. He shielded his eyes and stumbled over to the window, angrily yanking the heavy material shut against the offending rays before realizing that he'd actually been _woken up_. Which meant he'd been deeply asleep. Usually he dozed fitfully between nightmares at best. He kept the curtains in his bedroom partially open because he was always awake well before dawn and took a small pleasure in the slow, dim light before it got too bright to tolerate.

The feeling of being well rested was foreign but pleasant as he stretched and, breathing in, stopped, frowning curiously.

There was a smell, several smells, actually. His stomach grumbled in response. Four floors below him, someone was cooking, and for once in his life since he'd returned, it smelled divine. He quickly pulled on the jeans that had been kicked across the floor last night and yanked open his door, inhaling deeply. Before he stepped into the hall however, he paused, wondering just who was doing the cooking. The only witch or wizard he knew who could cook worth a damn was Molly Weasley, and surely she wasn't slaving away in his kitchen.

He picked up the sound of a feminine voice humming to herself and suddenly remembered – Hermione. He slowly backed into his bedroom, his brain picking through the remnants of sleep fog. Images of the dark-haired beauty who'd appeared like an answered prayer last night, all but obliterated his old memories of the brainy little swot she used to be.

Glancing in the mirror on the way to the bathroom, Sirius cringed. What was it she said? 'I like the beard'? He considered his pale reflection for a moment then decided on a quick shower and shave. He wasn't crazy about the beard, but he'd compromise by at least neatening it up. He was quite proud of his ability to handle a Muggle razor at this point, getting by with only one minor nick on his neck.

Picking up the damp washcloth from the side of the basin, Sirius suddenly recalled the reason why he was so well rested. He was flooded with memories of a sweet, soft voice and tender fingers that had managed to slip into his nightmares, systematically dissolving them until he'd opened his eyes to catch an angel looking down at him.

Sirius felt his stomach twist with a mix of emotions, the first of which was humiliation. Damn fool, he thought bitterly to himself. Here he was cleaning up for the one witch who had every reason to laugh in his face or worse, pity him for his weakness.

And yet, he couldn't deny wanting more of it. Since the moment she'd tackled him in the hallway last night, he'd felt pleasantly drugged by Hermione's presence. He'd been in a feeling-less limbo for seven bloody years, and upon returning, every thing and every one had been nearly unbearable for him until she showed up. Now he hungered for more of it. _Pathetic,_ he thought with disgust. She'd acted as a concerned friend and a Healer, and he was licking it up like a starved dog.

In the end, Sirius' stomach finally decided for him, and he pulled on his last fresh pair of jeans and one of the few decent-looking shirts he had left. He made a mental note to find some way to do laundry today, and with one last look in the mirror, he headed downstairs.

He stopped just outside the kitchen door and braced himself for the inevitable confrontation about his nightmares. Knowing that it was exactly that - inevitable, Sirius took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Hermione had just set a bowl of warmed fruit compote on the large kitchen table when he entered the kitchen. She smiled up at him, her chocolate eyes meeting his stormy greys with no hesitation. "Good morning," she greeted him warmly with no fanfare before turning back to the stove.

"Do you like crepes? I was also thinking of making an omelet," she called over her shoulder.

He took in her slender but curvy frame, admiring the jeans that hugged her hips, the fitted soft blue shirt that rode up slightly, exposing a strip of flesh at her waist as she reached above her for a couple of mugs. Her hair was pulled back at her neck, she had tied a dishtowel around her waist as an apron, and she commanded the kitchen in her bare feet. Sirius sighed hopelessly.

"I also picked up some coffee beans because you were pretty low," Hermione continued as she stirred a pan of sliced bananas in sauce. "I wasn't sure how strong you liked it though, so you'll have to make your own."

"You didn't have to do all this," Sirius said quietly.

"Hmm?" she responded absently. "Oh, I do this all the time, Sirius. Trust me – 'breakfast is the most important meal of the day,'" she recited with a grin, sliding a thin, delicate crepe onto a large plate. "Not to mention one of the most delicious."

She turned to him, holding the plate expectantly. "Well?"

He blinked in confusion.

Her eyes sparkled cheerfully as she clarified, "Did you want a crepe, Sirius, and if so, would you like bananas or compote?"

His mouth watered and he stood dumb with indecision.

"Both, then?" Hermione began spooning the banana filling into one half of the pancake, then the compote before folding it neatly and setting it on the table with a small flourish. "That will stay warm while you make your coffee." She added teasingly, "I think you need it."

"Thank you," Sirius mumbled, trudging past her to the kitchen counter. It was then that he noticed the familiar strains of a melody ever so softly coming from the far end of the kitchen.

"Is that Miles?" he asked as he poured the Italian roasted coffee beans into an old hand grinder.

She looked at him strangely. 

_How did he even hear that?_  She wondered. She'd set the small modified CD player at the far end of the kitchen and had been listening to it with the volume set low while she read the paper earlier. But now, at the other end of the kitchen, she could barely make out one or two notes of the familiar music, and only if she strained to hear it. Maybe Padfoot's senses... she reasoned with a mental shrug.

"'Kind of Blue'" She nodded as she ladled more batter onto the round griddle. "I hope you don't mind?"

He merely grinned to himself as he turned the crank on his beans.

"Wait – I didn't know you listened to Muggle jazz." Hermione turned to him, squinting suspiciously.

"I could say the same for you," he tossed back, emptying the fresh grinds into the stovetop percolator and pulling open the side drawer for the matches. "Besides," he continued as he turned the gas burner on and struck a match to light it, "that album was a classic before you or I were even born."

He grinned as he turned to her, but was stopped by the slight frown on her face as she eyed the matches and hand grinder on the counter.

"Sirius," Hermione said quietly, stepping over to him. She glanced down at his neck and recalled the Muggle razor she'd noticed on his bathroom counter the night before. She absently swiped the tiny nick that was still bleeding before looking back up into his eyes.

"Sirius," she began again softly. "Where is your wand?"

Her eyes were solemn and concerned, but he couldn't find the pity he expected to see there. Habit and instinct should have moved him to make something up like usual, or to tell the young witch to sod off and mind her own damn business. Instead he opened his mouth and the truth stumbled out.

"It didn't exactly make the return trip back with me," he replied quietly. His shoulders dropped as a small weight felt as if it had been lifted from them.

"And you haven't bothered to get another one?" she asked.

"Your pancake, Hermione." Sirius nodded to the griddle behind her.

"Damn!" she exclaimed at the bubbling mess before sweeping it away with a wand motion and ladling another scoop of batter in its place.

"To answer your question, no, I haven't been to Ollivander's yet." Sirius sighed. "Haven't exactly been up for dealing with Diagon Alley, to be honest." It was the truth, he reasoned, and he had no obligation to share the details, anyway.

"I suppose that's understandable," she replied, checking the oven while the crepe pan tilted itself around. "I mean, Diagon Alley can be a bit much even for someone who hasn't spent seven years stranded on the other side of a drapery..." She levitated the large cast iron skillet from the oven to a trivet on the table, then slid another crepe onto the plate next to the griddle. When she turned back to him, he was watching her with an unreadable expression.

"Sirius?" she asked cautiously, worried she might have offended him, somehow.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he replied. "Is there something I can help with?" he asked, changing the subject and looking around.

Hermione nodded to the table. "Eat."

Sirius pulled out a chair and sat, blissfully inhaling the aromas that swam around the kitchen before picking up a fork to dig into his crepe.

Hermione's back straightened with a slight shiver at the ecstatic moan that rumbled from the man behind her. She turned, raising an eyebrow as she watched him take another bite, eyes closed and a euphoric expression on his face. She wasn't sure whether to feel embarrassed or flattered, but the noises coming from him were practically erotic as he ate. She ducked her head and turned to the stove where the coffee was – doing nothing. With a wave of her wand, the brew was percolating, and she poured two steaming mugs for herself and Sirius before seating herself across from him.

He opened his eyes as she plunked the two mugs on the table and smiled contentedly at her while chewing happily. Hermione gave him an amused smirk. "There's omelet as well, you know."

"Hermione, you are a goddess," Sirius mumbled wholeheartedly through another bite of food. He swallowed then took a sip of the rich black coffee, relishing in its bitter contrast to the sweet crepe. He saw her raise her eyebrows skeptically and thought with amusement of how she had no idea. He could have wept with joy over how utterly good it all tasted. In one single dish he had proof that the life he'd returned to wasn't utter shite as he'd come to believe.

Knowing she'd never understand such an overreaction, he simply said, "I had no idea you could cook."

Hermione gave him a half-smile as she dished some omelet onto her plate as well as his. "I couldn't, actually. But my roommate in the states was a Culinary Witch. I must have gained fifteen pounds the first year we lived together, but she taught me a lot in exchange for some help with her potions course work."

He dug into the fluffy blanket of eggs, mushrooms, ham, tomato and cheese, groaning in another round of culinary bliss. Hermione couldn't help her laughter at this point.

"Sirius! It's not THAT good," she chided.

He shook his head. "You have no idea. I could marry you for this, you know."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. Her stomach gave an unreasonable twinge but she replied teasingly, "Well, I wouldn't put you through that. But it is the least I can do to repay you for letting me stay here."

He furrowed his brow, his tone serious. "There's no payment needed for that, love. You are always welcome in my home. I want you to understand that."

She simply smiled in response and sipped her coffee before changing the subject.

"I'm actually going out to Diagon Alley this morning, as well as a couple of Muggle shops. You're welcome to join me if you like."

Sirius peered into his mug regretfully. "Thanks, but I'm not really-"

"It's okay," she interrupted him in her effort to not pressure him. "But when you feel up for it, I'll be happy to go with, if you want company."

She stood, taking her dishes to the sink. "Can I pick anything up for you while I'm out?"

He regarded her back silently for a moment before answering, "Actually, would you mind picking up a pair of sunglasses for me?" When she turned to him questioningly, he grinned and added, "You know, something sexy."

Hermione shook her head and chuckled. "Sure, Sirius. Anything else?"

"That should do it," he replied, thinking to himself that perhaps it would be a start. He might be able to at least tolerate the daylight enough to get out of the house and do some things for himself, like laundry.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was livid. She was so angry, in fact, that she had the Muggle taxi drop her off ten blocks away from Harry and Ginny's address. She only hoped that walking the remainder of the distance would cool her temper to a manageable level before she finally confronted her old "friends."

_How could they be so utterly heartless?_ She fumed inwardly. Well, Ginny she could somewhat understand, but Harry? _His own godfather!_

"He's the only family I've got," she bitterly recalled him saying of Sirius so long ago. _Oh, how things change..._

Her heart hurt for the dark-haired wizard as she thought of him trapped once again in that godforsaken house. Now, however, he was simply trapped by his overly acute senses, and had been for three whole months. Did they not know? Sirius hadn't exactly volunteered the facts of what he was going through, but it wasn't that hard to figure out.

After breakfast, she'd gone to Diagon Alley to pick up a few items - mostly potion supplies for a Dreamless Sleeping draught she hoped might help Sirius. She'd also done a bit of shopping in Muggle London to purchase bed linens and a sleek looking pair of dark sunglasses.

It had been a slightly odd request, but she'd assumed it was just an offhand item that he hadn't felt up to tolerating the crowds in order to get. Now that she knew it was because he literally couldn't tolerate the daylight without them, however, she was furious.

It made perfect sense to her that after all Sirius had been through, he'd be suffering a sort of sensory overload. But because no one had bothered to address it, the man had been left to feel like a damned invalid when he was anything but.

~oOo~

_Earlier that day..._

Hermione's suspicions had been building throughout the morning as she recalled all the odd little details of Sirius' behaviour while she shopped.

At first she'd thought he was being silly and overly-flattering about the breakfast she'd cooked, until it became apparent that he was quite genuine in his enthusiasm.

And she knew, _knew_ that the little CD player in the kitchen had been turned down to just barely above zero, because she'd only had it on loud enough to hear while she was sitting right next to it. Yet he'd heard the music clearly enough to identify the album at the other end of the large room, over the clatter of dishes and cooking noises. Maybe he could carry some residual sensory sharpness due to his Animagus form, but even that was pushing it.

He'd cringed, almost painfully, when she'd started to open the curtain in the parlour to let some reading light in after breakfast. He hadn't said anything, but his shoulders had visibly relaxed when she'd dropped the tieback and let the heavy material fall back into place.

And she couldn't be certain, but after she'd emerged from her room, showered and dressed to go out, as he paused in passing her on the stairwell, did he – _smell_ her?

Her thoughts began piecing themselves together into a theory as she fingered a set of high thread-count sheets in the linen store. They were her favorite, not too fancy or sleek, but incredibly soft. For some reason she had a fleeting thought of the coarse, twisted sheets in Sirius' bed from the night before. She glanced up at the price marker and was delighted to find they were on special, a two for one deal. She paused for barely a moment before grabbing four sets total, as well as a few fresh pillows.

Hermione chewed her lip contemplatively as she continued shopping. She didn't know exactly where Sirius had gone when he fell into the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. It was just always assumed that, being a doorway to the "other side," it signified death. Wherever he'd gone, it had been seven years since he'd fallen in. The return would most assuredly have been a shock, both mentally and physically. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about it in his letter, however.

She browsed through the display of sunglasses, a smile playing her lips as she pictured him. "Something sexy," he'd said with a grin. She found a sleek dark pair she thought would be perfect and took her purchases to the checkout.

When she returned to Grimmauld place, it was to find Sirius sweating over a large steaming cauldron in the old kitchen. She teased him about making her lunch, but quickly discovered he was stirring laundry. He smirked and rolled his eyes. "I know, I know... " he muttered, waiting to hear the lecture about getting a goddamn wand.

Instead Hermione shook her head. "Doesn't your wardrobe take care of that?"

"What?" he asked dumbly. It wasn't the question he was expecting.

"Your wardrobe, Sirius..." She drifted off, realizing that the wardrobe in his bedroom was probably older than he was, built long before the latest charmed wardrobes had become a common wizarding household item. But hadn't Harry seen to that?

Hermione blinked and cleared her throat. "Sirius," she explained, "they make charmed wardrobes now that clean everything for you. I went to school with the girl who invented the charm for them, actually. Would you mind if I -?" she asked, motioning upstairs.

It took all of five minutes to charm the ancient old wardrobe to clean his clothes for him while he stood in the doorway to his bedroom watching with admiration and a touch of envy. When she was finished, she noticed the twisted bedclothes half-hanging on the floor and remembered her purchases. He tried to decline the new linens but she pushed them on him, insisting that she had no use for so many sets and besides, they were free.

"Bamboo?" he read the label with a skeptical look.

Hermione grinned wistfully with an emphatic 'yes' and tore open one of the bundles. The fabric spilled over his sensitive fingers and he fought back a sigh. He schooled his expression into a subdued smile and shrugged casually. "Pretty nice," he mumbled, while his hands plunged greedily into the bundle of cool soft material.

With a quick glance at his hands, her suspicions were nearly affirmed.

Hermione prepared a neat lunch of sandwiches, brie, and fresh fruit from the stand up the street. She was torn between regret and fascination over her purchase of the sack of large, nearly black cherries. Witnessing the relish with which Sirius would bite into each fat fruit, his teeth slowly piercing the dark flesh, his lips slightly sucking at the juice before he would chew one half of the meat away from the pit, and then the other – it was positively indecent. And he seemed utterly oblivious to the effect it was having on her.

"Oh," Hermione said, remembering suddenly. She reached into her bag, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, and pushed them across the table to Sirius. He paused halfway through a cherry and looked up at her with a pleased grin before licking the juice from his fingers and reaching for the shades.

"These are great, just perfect!" he exclaimed, and slid them on his face, giving her a teasing smirk before jumping up from the table and bounding out of the kitchen.

After piling the dishes into the sink to clean themselves, Hermione found Sirius in the back yard. He was seated with his back to an old stone table, arms spread on either side of him, his face upturned to the sun. Her breath caught in her throat at the look of sheer joy on his face before she noticed just how pale his complexion was.

He hadn't noticed her yet; the bench where he was seated was at the far corner of the large back garden, and she was certain his eyes were closed as he basked in the warm sunlight. Hermione licked her lips and, without really considering it, the muttered his name, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Sirius immediately straightened and turned to her, his smile faltering slightly as he noticed her wide-eyed expression. He gave a resigned sigh and nodded as he patted the bench next to him. She was probably the brightest young witch he'd met since Lily Potter, so it came as little surprise that she'd figure it out sooner or later. As she crossed the lawn, he tried to brace himself for all of the impossible questions that were surely coming.

Hermione tucked one leg under her so she could face him as she sat down on the warm stone. She tilted her head, her brown eyes regarding him intently for a moment before she asked in a quiet voice, "Sirius, where were you?"

It was such a vague sounding question, yet he knew exactly what she was asking. Harry had asked him what was on the other side of the Veil. The healers who'd examined him when he was found had asked him to describe everything he remembered. His one very brief experience with the press had consisted of a sea of irritating voices all asking some variation of, "what was it like?" And he'd faked them all out, shrugging it off as not remembering, or simply slamming the door in their faces. His damaged state left him feeling like enough of a basket case without having to explain why. Yet for some reason, as she peered at him through the black lenses, searching for his own grey eyes, he felt the truth come tumbling out.

"Nowhere, Hermione," he replied. "It was Nowhere."

Her lips had parted slightly and a tiny crease formed between her eyebrows as she noticed the slight emphasis he placed on the word, like it was an actual place. He continued before she could ask.

"When that bitch knocked me into the archway, everything just went black and silent, and I felt – nothing." Sirius looked over Hermione's shoulder, recalling.

"It took me a while to realize I wasn't actually dead. I had no sense of form, no sense of – of anything. The only thing I could experience at all were my own thoughts, and the cold." His gaze returned to her. "That's all it was."

His lips twisted sardonically. "It wasn't until I found myself asleep and dreaming that I realized I was somehow alive and still me. I mean, the dead don't sleep, right?"

Hermione remained silent as he continued. "I didn't know long I was stuck there, picking through every memory I've ever had, more than I was left with after Azkaban." He shook his head slightly. "But at some point, I had this feeling of being... not finished. The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of the archway, completely starkers, looking out into the room where the whole thing had happened. I knew if I looked behind me it was over, so I stepped through."

Sirius smiled wryly. "By chance I was found by that little blonde witch who was with you all when I fell in, she was working in the Department of Mysteries... Lovegood, I think. She sent for Kingsley, I got poked and prodded at St. Mungo's for a few hours, and now here I am."

Hermione licked her lips hesitantly. "You spent seven years in Nothing, Sirius?"

He gave a flippant smirk and turned his face to the sun again. "Yep."

"And that's why you haven't been to Diagon – that's what you meant when you said it was too much," she whispered.

He let out an involuntary sigh, his tone thick with unexpected relief. "Yes."

He couldn't look at Hermione just yet. It felt surprisingly good to know that someone, specifically she, now knew the reason for his behaviour. He wasn't ready to taint that with the look of pity that was doubtlessly swimming in her eyes.

"Is it all five senses, or just sight and sound?" she asked, her tone almost clinical.

"It's everything," he replied.

"What did the healers say?"

"Oh, nothing – I faked them," Sirius answered casually.

Hermione smirked. "Can't say I'm surprised," she muttered. "Just how... sensitive are we talking about?"

Sirius turned to her and considered for a moment before answering softly, "I know how late you stayed up reading last night because I could hear you turning the pages of your book."

She blushed. "Oh. Oh... I'm so sorry. I'll – I can cast a Silencing Charm..."

"Please don't- " he interrupted. "I mean, not on my account. Obviously if you want your privacy, but... " He cautioned a glance at her to see her reaction.

"I guess the last thing you need is total silence," she finished for him quietly.

A shy smile played the corners of her mouth as she pondered something.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, I suppose I'm even more flattered that you liked my cooking."

Sirius exhaled a chuckle. "Hermione love, you can't possibly know. I thought I'd never enjoy a cooked meal again."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I take it Ginny's gotten no better in the kitchen then? It's a wonder you haven't wasted away completely... "

"Oh so it's not just me – Harry seems to like her cooking just fine, and I couldn't understand it."

Hermione laughed. "Harry's been charming the food she gives him for years. George taught him how to do it. He never had the heart to tell her he didn't like her cooking."

When their laughter died down, Sirius tilted his head toward her. "You charmed these, didn't you?" He asked, and touched the glasses on his face.

She gave a small smile and nodded once.

He shook his head and hauled himself off the bench, muttering something about giving Lily a run for her money before turning to Hermione with his hand extended. Once she stood up, he gave it a quick squeeze.

"Thank you," he said softly, and strode back into the house.

~oOo~

Hermione paused in front of the building, glancing down at the scrap of parchment with their address written in Sirius' scrawl. She ascended the concrete steps and pressed the button next to their flat number. Harry's voice crackled over the tiny speaker.

"Hello?"

"Harry, it's Hermione," she said into the metal panel. A moment later she heard the buzz of the door permitting her access.

When she reached the second floor, their door was already open, and he was leaning against the frame waiting for her. Her stomach gave an unpleasant lurch at the conflicting emotions that hit her; gods how she missed her friend, and the smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth made her heart ache. But she also felt horribly betrayed and let down. He stood there, a personification of everything she'd missed for the past three years, everything she'd fervently hoped and wished she could find again. But she knew that was a delusion. Everything had changed, long before now. She could have walked away with her own feelings protected, but now apparently the same sort of cruel detachment was being extended to Sirius as well. Anger flared in her again as she neared the famous wizard.

Harry's smile widened as she got closer. "Hermi-"

He was abruptly cut off by the sting of her hand against his cheek.

"OW! What the-"

"How could you, Harry?" Hermione's voice wavered but was low and fierce.

Realization dawned prematurely on his face. "Oh Merlin, Hermione, I'm so sorry – everything was so rushed and I didn't have any way to reach you. You can stay the night here if you like..."

She frowned and shook her head. "What? You think this is about lodging? He's your godfather - you're the only family he has, and you just left him there in his condition without even a wand? I didn't think you could be that cold."

Harry flushed angrily. "Cold? He's the one who tossed me out, Hermione. Three months and not a single effort on his part to even try to just - live. He's done nothing but wallow and sulk and drink that whole time. You have no idea what it's been like... "

"I have no idea? Did you even once stop to think there might be a reason he wasn't getting out? Did you ever even bother to ask him?" Hermione's voice raised in pitch and volume but she was cut off as she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and whipped her wand out, disarming Ginny from whatever she was about to attempt.

"Hey! No wands you two!" Harry snarled. Hermione smirked and sheathed hers in her belt.

Ginny came to the door, her face matching her red hair and her lips curled in a sneer. "What do you care what happens to Sirius, Hermione? His life meant less to you than your precious house-elf rights, after all. Now you dare come here and criticize us for getting away from Mister Bitterness?"

Hermione stopped, her mouth agape in confusion. "What?" she asked, incredulous.

Harry merely pressed his lips together and shrugged.

Ginny continued, her mouth curving smugly. "Oh, I believe the way you put it was something like, 'Sirius was horrible to Kreacher and ultimately paid for his poor treatment of house elves,' like he deserved death for being unkind to that little wart who betrayed him."

The breath left her chest as she recalled the conversation to which Ginny was referring. She, Ron, and Harry had pieced together where the real locket had been in their hunt for Horcruxes. In trying to appeal to Kreacher, they'd found some insight into the psychology of house elves, specifically that their behaviour was strongly based in emotional loyalty towards their families, particularly those who treated them best.

_Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it's no good looking like that, you know it's true. Kreacher had been alone for such a long time when Sirius came to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. I'm sure 'Miss Cissy' and 'Miss Bella' were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and told them everything they wanted to know. I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did... and so did Sirius._ 

That was what she'd told Harry years... _years_ ago. And somehow it translated into this twisted accusation, and yet another black mark against her?

Her wide eyes darted from Ginny's smug face to Harry, who was now looking down at the dingy hallway floor.

"Is that what you honestly think, Harry?" Hermione whispered, appalled. "That I felt Sirius deserved to die because he was mean to Kreacher?" She cleared her throat as horror turned to anger. "Sirius also 'paid for' being a so-called blood-traitor to a family of lunatics. Did he deserve that? Harry, did he 'deserve' Azkaban – did your parents 'deserve' to be murdered, because they ultimately paid for underestimating Pettigrew and not keeping him closer to their fold?"

Harry was looking at her now, his face filled with shame. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Hermione shook her head. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, I'm already the Wicked Witch of the West for dumping Ron and letting him die in my arms. But you - you've been holding on to this for five years? And you call Sirius bitter? At least he has reason to be."

She took one last look at the Potter couple – Ginny's face was frozen at the mention of her deceased brother, and Harry's face was a mask of shame and anguish. Neither spoke.

Her tone was ice cold now. "What do I care what happens to Sirius, indeed. Well, maybe you should ask yourselves why cold, heartless Hermione gives more of a damn than you two obviously do."

With that, she spun on her heel and strode out of the building.

She was grateful for the ability to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place because as it was, by the time she reached the doorstep of number twelve, the tears were already streaming down her face. She took a deep breath, opened the door as quietly as possible, and made her way to her bedroom, pushing the door shut before collapsing onto the large bed and curling up for a good cry.


	5. Chapter 5

  
~oOo~

Sirius heard the front door open and close, the soft steps up to the second floor, and then the sound of the larger bedroom door opening and closing. He figured Hermione would head down to the kitchen after a bit, and decided to put some water on for tea. He was stopped, however, by the stifled little gasps and sniffles that he recognized as crying. Without a second thought, he ascended the staircase, pausing outside her door.

He gave a soft rap and called in. "Hermione?"

When she didn't answer, he continued. "I'm coming in unless you tell me not to."

At her silence, he slowly opened the door to see the back of the brunette witch curled on the large bed. The mattress sank slightly beneath his weight as he sat on the edge and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, do you want to tell me about it?"

Hermione turned to him, and a fresh set of tears sprang to her puffy red eyes. "Sirius... how much did Harry tell you about what happened with Kreacher?"

Sirius was completely taken aback. He vaguely remembered Hermione's stint with house elf rights when she was in her fifth year. Was that what had her in such a state now?

"Err..." He searched mentally. "He mentioned something about him playing a role in the final war..."

"He didn't tell you that it was Kreacher who betrayed you, that he implied you'd gone to the Ministry that night, convincing Harry to go after you?"

Sirius' eyebrows shot up and he paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Well I suppose I might have asked for that. Should never have underestimated the little-" He cut himself off, clearing his throat.

Hermione frowned. "Don't say that. You didn't deserve to go through what you did."

"Perhaps not, Hermione, but I was so wrapped up in my own bitter memories of this place that I gleefully took it out on Mother's house-elf. We never did get along - he was brainwashed by my family to be just as blood-obsessed as the rest of them. But you know what they say about keeping one's enemies close." He eyed her curiously, absently wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "That's not what this is all about, is it?"

She sniffled and shook her head.

"Things didn't go so well with Harry, I take it?" he asked softly. He'd suspected something had happened to their friendship over the years; Harry hadn't said more than two words about Hermione in the time Sirius had returned, and Hermione hadn't been in any huge rush to go see him since her return.

"Everything is so different now," she whispered. "Ever since Ron died... " She closed her eyes as more tears trickled out. She took a deep breath and shook her head again. "We'd broken up just a month before."

Sirius rubbed her back. "I'm so sorry."

She attempted a weak smile and failed as everything started pushing forward in her head. "They all thought it was because I never forgave him for leaving Harry and me when we were on the run. Apparently that's what Ron told everyone. He was so angry with me – he was going to propose and I ruined it." She looked down at her hands. "Everyone was furious."

He interrupted her, frowning. "He left you and Harry? When did this happen?"

She told him the brief story of their hunt for Horcruxes, explaining the toll the locket had taken on the three, and Ron's impulsive departure and inability to find his way back to them for weeks. "That wasn't why, though, not really. Although I suppose it was an indication of why we weren't meant for each other. I just... I didn't love him, not in _that_ way. After the war ended, I kept seeing how Harry and Ginny were together - they were so in love, and Bill and Fleur, and even Ron's mum and dad. But he and I - we didn't have that. Everyone expected us to be together, and it felt like that was the only reason we were."

"Do you think Ron felt differently?" Sirius asked.

"Oh I know he saw it the same way. I just didn't know for certain until... " Hermione swallowed.

She took a shuddering breath. "The day Ron died, he had asked to meet me for lunch. We were in downtown London, and he told me he was in love with someone else, really in love, and that he wanted my blessing before he announced it to everyone.

"He had the engagement ring he'd bought for me, and was going to trade it in. It was all so quick, but – he was crazy about the girl, I could see it on his face. I'd never seen him like that before, over me or anyone else. He was going to see a Muggle jeweler, because he wanted to keep it a secret, and of course everyone in the wizarding community knew who he was. I helped him make sure he had the right amount of money and everything." She grimaced at the memory and whispered, "I should have gone with him...

"It wasn't a very nice part of town, but being an Auror, Ron thought he'd be fine. I was three blocks away when I heard the sirens. It was an armed robbery. I – I think the thieves were confused when Ron pulled a 'stick' on them, and they – they shot him. Several times."

"Oh, Hermione," Sirius whispered, pulling her into his arms.

"I couldn't do anything, Sirius. For all my Healer training, for all the magic in the world, I couldn't stop it. His blood was everywhere, and all I could think was that there were bullets in him, and how do you fix that? They don't train you for bullet wounds in the wizarding world. Trying to remove them would have killed him, leaving them in would have done the same, and he – he died there, in my arms." She was sobbing freely now. "He had so much ahead of him, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save him, Sirius."

"Shhhh, it's alright love," Sirius cooed as he held her close. "It wasn't your fault, you know that, right? It wasn't your fault..."

After several moments, she calmed down enough to pull away. Wiping the mass of curls and tears from her face, she sniffled and looked up. She inhaled and hiccuped slightly. "Sorry – I, I haven't spoken about that, well, not ever, really."

"That's why you left, isn't it?"

She nodded and her lips curved bitterly. "Molly would have had my Healer's license if she could. I actually tried to turn it in myself. Adolphus, my mentor, wouldn't have it, though. He was the one who recommended the exchange program to me. Getting away for a while seemed like the best option.

"They'll never forgive me, though," she said softly. "I was even barred from the funeral. And poor Susan Bones... "

"Do you forgive you?" Sirius asked pointedly.

"Sure," Hermione replied uncertainly, after a moment of considering. "Aside from just getting away, the big lure to America was the Muggle medicine program. The official St. Mungo's report was that there was nothing that could have been done to save Ron, but - " She gave an unimpressed sigh. "Our practices are a little archaic in all areas, if you ask me. I had to know for certain. Not just for my conscience but because this could happen to anyone. Being magical doesn't make us invincible.

"I know for certain now that in Ron's case there hadn't really been a chance of survival. But in places like America, Canada, Japan, and Switzerland, there are more advanced treatments that incorporate magical and Muggle medicine. Even if Ron's wounds had been less critical, he likely still would have died under the care of our medical system." She grimaced in anguish at the thought.

"Hermione, I can't believe Harry would hold this against you. Molly Weasley is a bit daft, and she's lost too many children, so I'm not surprised about her. But whatever has happened, Harry still cares for you," Sirius insisted.

"Maybe, Sirius, but people change. Everything is so different now... "

"You're telling me," he said, his eyebrows slightly raised.

She blushed. "I guess you'd know better than anyone, and here I've been blubbering at you."

He smiled warmly. "Any time, love."

Just then the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the nine o'clock hour and Hermione's eyes widened. "Merlin! We're late!"

She jumped up from the bed and pulled Sirius with her. "Come on!" she exclaimed, tugging him down the stairs in a mad rush.

"Where are we going at this hour?" he asked, chuckling.

She turned to him as she pulled open the front door. Quirking an eyebrow at him, she grabbed his muscled arm once they were on the stoop. "You'll see."

She was counting on the rush to be like ripping off a band-aid, giving him no time to hesitate or argue. As she turned, pulling him with her in a side-along Apparition, she was successful.

~oOo~

Diagon Alley was dark and nearly deserted, the majority of shops having closed hours earlier. Two figures appeared suddenly outside of a very old structure. The taller of the two, a male, stumbled slightly and cursed. "Couldn't you have warned me, at least?"

The slighter, feminine figure with a mane of wild curls whispered in reply, "Sorry, there wasn't time."

The man looked around them. "Is this Diagon Alley? Great Merlin, it's been... "

He was interrupted by the rapping of the witch's knuckles on the old wooden door before them. After a brief moment, the door swung open and a familiar, young, blonde witch stood in the dim light of the shop, a soft smile on her lips.

"Hello Hermione, Sirius." Her voice had a dreamy lilt to it as she ushered them in.

"Thank you so much for doing this, Luna." Hermione smiled, setting her bag on the floor next to a rickety wooden stool.

Sirius took in his surroundings. It had been decades since he'd last been in the old wandmaker's shop, yet he remembered the day with uncanny clarity. The only thing different was the person behind the counter. He gave her a confused frown.

"Lovegood, isn't it? I thought you worked at the Ministry... "

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, not technically," she replied brightly, "but we don't talk about that."

Luna turned to the shelves stacked to the ceiling with long narrow boxes and started pulling several down while chatting animatedly over her shoulder. "Now, of course I know why you're here – Mr. Ollivander was sorry he couldn't make it, naturally, but he only works in the shop part time anymore. I've been assisting and apprenticing with him since the war ended, you know. We were both expecting you much sooner than this, Sirius, so when Hermione stopped by this afternoon and explained your predicament, of course I agreed to meet you here after hours."

She paused and looked at him sincerely. "I can't say I'm surprised that a house so old would have such clever narguls, sealing the entrances until after dark like that. Harry was probably only fending them off just enough to get himself out during the day. They're not easy to rid completely, but without a wand of course, it would be hopeless." Luna glanced at Hermione and smiled. "I'm sure Hermione knows how to eradicate them, but if you continue to have problems, let me know... "

As she turned to select several more wands, Sirius gave Hermione a mystified look and mouthed, 'Narguls?' To which she simply shrug and shook her head. He felt a little pull in his heart that she'd kept his real 'predicament' a secret.

"All right, let's give these few a try, shall we?" Luna smiled at Sirius.

It took all of six attempts before the wand found its rightful owner. The delighted grin on Sirius' face as that familiar warmth spread through him when he picked it up was nothing to the joyful laugh that broke from him when he swished the wand and a shower of dazzling white and gold sparks shot out. He turned to Hermione and impulsively lifted her into a bear hug, swinging her around as his laughter infected her. When he set her back down his arms lingered around her waist and his eyes danced over her prettily flushed features.

"Thank you, Hermione," he murmured, his voice warm and thick with feeling. Reaching up to brush an errant curl from her face, he opened his mouth as if to say something more, then closed it, shaking his head with a strange smile. "Thanks," he whispered again, before turning to Luna to pay for his new wand.

Hermione watched with wonder as they made their way through the darkened streets of Diagon Alley. She remembered well enough when Harry's wand got broken, and then when she'd been without her own wand, how bereft she'd felt. Yet she was still amazed at the difference that one enchanted stick of wood made to a witch or wizard's sense of self and well-being. It was like a missing piece had clicked into place with Sirius.

He twirled the thirteen and a half inch length of mahogany between his fingers, whistling a soft and vaguely familiar tune to himself. With his arm crooked through hers, they meandered down the uneven street at his request, stopping in front of darkened shop windows to peer in at the dimly lit displays. She felt a pang, suddenly wanting very badly to see Sirius taking in the world in full daylight. So many little things seemed to enchant him, it was like watching a child at Christmastime. His appreciation for everything was infectious and inspiring. Again, she felt her chest twist at the thought of such a bright spirit being shuttered away for more than half his life. She made a silent vow then and there to do whatever she could to right things.

Hermione hadn't realized they had a destination until they reached a very small shop on a narrow corner that was open and lit from within. The sign above the doorway was battered, yet newer than some, and read, "Cappy's." Peering into the dirty glass windows, she saw it was something akin to a wizarding package and convenience shop. Sirius slipped his new sunglasses on and gave her a mischievous grin, jerking his head to the door. "D'you mind?" he asked.

"Oh! No, of course not. Actually, I meant to pick up a few things for cooking earlier," she replied, slipping in after him and heading toward the wine shelf.

Sirius paid for his three bottles of firewhiskey as well as the wines Hermione picked out. Like a child pushing the buttons for a lift, he delighted in shrinking the large sack of alcohol down to a lightweight and manageable size before they left.

When they returned to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, Sirius laid a hand on Hermione's arm, stopping her. He held out his hand in front of him, closed, facing up as if he held something. When he extended his long fingers they revealed a small, smooth, grey stone resting in the center of his palm. Hermione's eyes met his questioningly, and but he merely flicked his gaze back to the stone, indicating she should do the same. With a very small wave of his wand, the stone transfigured into a miniature lotus blossom, pale, satin-like, and perfect in the faint moonlight. He held it out to her, his lips curling upwards at the corners as she cupped it gingerly in her small hands.

"Thank you. It's beautiful, Sirius," she said softly, her voice tinged with awe.

"It never gets old, does it? Magic, I mean," he spoke, admiring the innocent pleasure that lit her face as she shook her head in reply. "Thank you for giving that back to me," he said simply, turning and opening the door to the old house.


	6. Chapter 6

  
~oOo~

The small, white flower sat in its new place of esteem on the nightstand by Hermione's bed. She absently shifted her bare legs under the cool softness of her new sheets while filling the notebook in her lap with details and lists. Tomorrow she would go to the Muggle library downtown and use the computers to email her American colleague. She'd have to convince Sirius to let her run some diagnostic scans of her own on him, and then she could start fleshing out the theories that were bouncing around in her head.

Just as she was capping her ink bottle for the night, she heard it again. She bit her lip and, with a grimace, slid out of bed, wand in hand, and crept up to the fourth floor. Her movements were swift with familiarity this time as her wand cast a faint glow, just enough light for her to see by. She silently moved Sirius' wand out of reach as a precautionary measure, and noticed the tumbler and nearly empty firewhiskey bottle on his nightstand. Hermione frowned and made a mental note to herself about it before easing her weight onto the bed next to the thrashing wizard.

She fought back a gasp as a ragged cry escaped his lips. With cool, sure fingers she gently brushed the hair from his brow, mimicking her movements from the night before.

"Shhhh ... Sirius it's alright. I'm here ... " she whispered, hoping once more to ease him without waking him.

Her movements were halted by an iron-like grip on her wrist, his other hand swiftly reaching up and wrapping itself in her hair. She froze, her eyes wide, but he didn't awaken. She could see the rapid movement of his eyes behind their lids. His mouth quivered and his jaw clenched briefly before he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring slightly. Then, very suddenly, his frame relaxed while his hands pulled her close, forcing her down to lay with him. An almost imperceptible whisper escaped his lips. "Angel..."

His fingers released their grip in her hair, drifting down her back and resting on her hip. His other hand loosened its hold on her wrist and fell to his chest, where the rise and fall evened out with his breathing. Hermione took a deep, silent breath and gazed up at Sirius' face, still slumbering, now slack with relief.

She could justify her actions easily enough, but she couldn't completely deny the part of her that freely drank in the sight of him now. He was beyond handsome; the wizard laying next to her was... beautiful. This wasn't the rather failed paternal figure from her childhood, no, this Sirius was like some kind of tragic angel himself, dark, pale, and perfect.

She lightly traced the frame of his face with the backs of her fingers. His raven black hair curled slightly against her hand, softer than any man's hair should be. She wondered absently, as her fingers reached the coarser hair at his jawline, if now that he had his wand he would keep the beard.

Sirius' eyes fluttered open but he didn't move, and neither did Hermione. They stared silently at each other, coffee coloured eyes meeting those the colour of smoke. He blinked slowly but she remained. His exhausted brows barely crinkled and he licked his lips before whispering hoarsely, "I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Too late for that," she whispered in reply. "Now sleep."

His eyelids drooped heavily as her fingers continued their sweet, relaxing paths. "We'll talk tomorrow," he murmured as he drifted off, his hand still wrapped comfortably around her waist.

It was nearly dawn when Sirius awoke to find Hermione snuggled against him, chestnut curls splayed across his shoulder and chest, her soft hand curved delicately under his chin. He warred silently with himself, not quite able to pull himself away from something that felt so incredibly good, safe, and warm.

Somehow, in just over twenty-four hours, the brainy little witch had gotten under his skin in ways he'd all but forgotten existed. It had been so goddamn long since he'd had a woman in his arms, but he knew even those few dangerous little shags he'd risked between Azkaban and his house arrest hadn't felt anything like simply holding Hermione did. Just having her near felt like a warm fire after being locked out in the freezing rain. She calmed him, but at the same time she caused something to stir inside of him.

Why her, though? Much as he might like to shrug it off as novelty, the truth was that he'd actually had opportunities to be with other women since his return. Despite Sirius' protestations, Harry had tried to push him into a few social situations and had failed miserably. His godson had even gone so far as bringing Rosmerta over one night, which had been a huge disaster, resulting in a particularly nasty blowup on Sirius' part. Rosie had a soft place reserved in Sirius' heart ever since he was a kid, but he didn't want her fucking pity, and that's just what her visit had been.

How was Rosmerta's visit any different from Hermione's attentions, though? He remembered the hesitant smile the barmaid had given him from the doorway of his parlour. She was still beautiful, even in her middle years. But the pity in her expression had been clear as day, her eyes never quite meeting his directly. Sirius found himself waiting to see that same look from Hermione, but it had yet to come, even though she knew the things everyone else didn't. The actions she had taken to help him should have inspired indignation on his part, foolish as it may be. Yet he only felt deeply grateful.

He tilted his head to look down at her sleeping face. _Freckles_, he noticed distractedly. He knew just laying with her like this should be off limits – she was the same age as his godson, young enough to have been his own daughter, at least once upon a time. Granted, he wasn't physically the same upon his return; the Healers had simply declared that he hadn't aged during his "absence." Still, by years and experience he was much, much older than her.

Then again, thinking back to the last time he'd seen her, he realized he'd never truly thought of her as a child. None of the trio, actually. But Hermione in particular had had so much intelligence and wisdom beyond her age. And now - now she was the youngest Healer he'd ever known, and she'd managed to figure his condition out in less than a day's time. He sighed inwardly at himself – he'd fooled around with his share of dingy little chits, but it was always the brainy ones that really got to him. Fortunately (or unfortunately), it seemed that brains and looks were a rare combination, and in the past the few witches (okay, one) who'd borne those assets had been taken.

That was it. She reminded him just a little bit of Lily. And the difference between Rosmerta's reaction to him and Hermione's was the difference between pity and compassion.

That small revelation did nothing to quell his concerns over wanting the witch, however. And oh, but he did. From the smell and feel of her, to the look in her eyes he'd caught more than once since she arrived. He wanted her. And it was that look, when her eyes darkened from caramel to coffee that made him wonder if she felt something for him beyond compassion.

Sirius chided himself silently. The first time a smart and beautiful witch paid him more than a mercy glance and here he was running circles in his head over it. She'd only been here a day and a half, for Merlin's sake! Compassion and brilliance were one thing, but Hermione Granger doubtless had far better things to do with her affections than waste them on a broken mess of a man. He would have to find some way to reel in his reaction to her if he wanted to at least keep his own pride intact.

He frowned, realizing said "pride" was already endangered by the very reason she was laying in his arms. One of the nastier little side effects of Azkaban that no one ever advertised was the permanent damage to prisoners' sleep cycles. The dementors had made certain that their effects could not be escaped in slumber. Cold, inky tendrils would slip into his sleeping mind, leaving stains of twisted images, turning his subconscious against him. In sleep, one's defenses were lowered considerably, exposing deeper and more vulnerable areas of the mind. As far as anyone could tell, the psychological damage was irreversible. The only other person to witness his nightmares prior to Hermione had been Remus, and the werewolf had kindly respected his request to stay away.

Sirius struggled with the fact that the young Healer would undoubtedly want to try and "fix" this, this part of him that was irrepairable. It would be so much easier to push her away but for the fact that for the larger portion of the last two nights he'd actually slept peacefully for the first time in decades.

He sighed and looked back down at her. Knowing it wouldn't do for her to wake up in his bed, he slowly eased himself out of the tangle of bed sheets and female, and silently crept around to her side. She'd flopped easily out of his embrace, dead to the world. He slipped one arm under her back and another under her knees and lifted her, child-like. She only stirred once, enough to curl into his embrace once more. Fighting back a groan, Sirius carefully made his way down to the second floor suite, depositing her gently into the large old bed. A smile touched his lips as she murmured incoherently and turned onto her side, nestling her hand up under her chin. He pulled the soft sheets and down comforter up over her body and tenderly swept the wild curls from her face.

His eyes closed almost painfully as his fingers barely grazed the soft skin at her shoulder. The hungry pang of his tactile senses shot through him and he grit his teeth, fighting for that thread of self control that would prevent him from lingering, taking advantage of her vulnerable state, touching more. Just touching – that's all his fingers wanted, but that didn't make it any less wrong, and it sure as hell didn't help dampen what the rest of his body wanted.

Something caught his eye on her nightstand and he felt a small warmth seep into him as he recognized the stone he'd transfigured into a flower the evening before. His spirit lifted as the realization sunk in again that he had his wand. A grin crept across his face and a boyish giddiness possessed him as he slipped from Hermione's room, anxious to put it to use.

~oOo~

The late morning sunlight slid its warm fingers up the corner of the large bed, offering a gentle wake-up to the brunette witch still curled beneath the covers. She stirred slightly, snuggling into the pillows and reaching up to find nothing but more bedding. The content and expectant curve of her lips faltered as she opened her eyes, realizing where she was and, more importantly, where she had thought and secretly hoped she was instead.

Hermione leaned up, resting on her elbows as she looked around the bedroom that was now, at least temporarily her own. She flushed as she failed to recall coming back down there on her own, which meant she'd been _brought_ to her bedroom at some point while she'd slept.

Guilt quickly shoved away the heated recollection of Sirius wrapping his hand in her hair and pulling her to him. Then a disparaging practicality shoved aside her guilt as she reminded herself that she was Hermione, and he was Sirius, and the only business she had in the man's bedroom was that of helping another soul in need. Certainly he saw it that way, too. Why on earth would she let some schoolgirl crush make anything bigger out of it? There was nothing to feel guilty for, and she'd be a fool to mistake his acceptance of her as anything more than gratitude and a polite obligation to the witch who was his godson's best friend.

Having effectively chastised herself, she let out a sad, resigned sigh, pulled herself up out of bed, and started her shower.


	7. Chapter 7

  
When she reached the main floor and turned the corner, she was surprised to find the dark, heavy curtains pulled back in the parlour and the windows thrown wide, letting in a warm breeze. The scrape of chair legs across the stone floor drifted up from the kitchen below. She headed down the stairs to find Sirius refilling his coffee mug and pulling a warmed plate of bacon, eggs, and toast from the oven.

His slate colored eyes crinkled warmly at her as he glanced through the fringe of black waves that fell over his brow.

"It's not crepes and omelet," he said with a grin, "but it's edible. I do know how to cook somewhat, just not the Muggle way. Sit." He placed the plate of food down and motioned to the chair across from his before going to the cupboard for a fresh mug. "Coffee or tea?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Coffee please," Hermione answered, slightly dazed. The kitchen was filled with movement around her: a soapy brush was diligently scrubbing at the stone floor in the farthest corner while an iron-handled broom swept old ashes into a bucket from the hearth. The dishes in the sink were being washed and dried on their own, and a bowl of sliced fresh fruit drifted its way over to the table to land neatly in front of her. Even Phineas Nigellus poked his sour countenance into the kitchen via the still life portrait, an amused but haughty smirk on his lips. And yet, all of the activity was eerily silent, allowing her to make out the faint strains of music coming from the portable stereo she'd left in the corner the day before.

"Oh, I er – hope you don't mind." Sirius swept the hair from his eyes and motioned to the stereo as he returned to his seat, setting a steaming mug of rich, black coffee before Hermione.

She blinked. "No, not at all – I have other CD's if you'd like, though..."

"Seedees?" he repeated, quirking his head.

"Compact discs," she clarified, remembering he'd missed two decades worth of music and technology. Granted, it was Muggle music and technology, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd owned a turntable or eight-track player in his day.

Over breakfast she explained to him some of the more major advances made in Muggle technology. When he questioned why the little stereo even worked at all in such an old house thick with generations of magic, the discussion turned towards the Japanese magical world, and how they'd developed the means with which to modify and shield electrical devices to make them usable in magical environments. America, in her typical fashion, had jumped on the opportunity to import these new techniques and patents, incorporating them into many aspects of magical living.

Sirius was utterly fascinated.

Hermione smiled. "And actually," she added, "that little stereo is pretty archaic compared to what they have available nowadays. But it serves its purpose for me."

"What other albums do you have?" he asked, his excitement growing at the prospect of rediscovering some of his old favorites. He'd actually once owned a fairly respectable record collection, though nothing compared to James and Lily's. But all of that had been gone for ages. Now, by what Hermione was suggesting, he might get to hear, even own, a copy of _Are You Experienced?_ again. Or The White Album. Or oh, great Merlin, even some Led-

"-Zeppelin, a couple of Stones albums, a lot of more recent stuff," Hermione finished rattling off some titles, grinning widely at the awed expression on Sirius' face. "I'll bring them down and you can listen whenever you want." Quirking an eyebrow, she added, "Once we get you out of this house, we can even go shopping for other music if you like."

Sirius watched her back as she took her emptied dishes to the sink. Why didn't her statement irritate him? Harry used to harass him daily about getting out of the house, and it only served to remind him of his disability. Hermione seemed so sure of it, though, her tone patient and matter-of-fact despite being aware of his limitations. His eyes wandered over her form, lingering on the firm curves that filled her blue jeans. He smirked to himself. To be fair, the witch did have certain advantages in her favor as far as his temper was concerned.

Hermione turned suddenly, her eyes narrowed for a split second before leaning back against the counter. "Sirius..."

He schooled his features into what he hoped was something casual and innocent. "Hermione..." he mimicked her tone jokingly but faltered when she began chewing at her lip. "What is it, love?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you'd let me brew a Dreamless Sleeping draught for you."

_Oh. Here it is_, he thought. An involuntary sigh was dragged out of him. "It won't work," he replied, almost apologetically.

Her eyes snapped up to his from the floor. "Have you tried it?" she challenged.

His smile was amused. "Yes, yes I have," he replied.

"Who?" she demanded before calming her tone. "I mean, whose formula was it, do you know?"

"It was Dumbledore's," Sirius assured her.

A slightly arrogant smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I've added to his original formula and made some adjustments. It was part of my potions thesis," she added before raising her eyebrows imploringly. "Would you be willing to just try it, just to humor me?"

He considered her for a moment before nodding. "But it likely won't work, Hermione," he warned again. His calm but frank tone seemed to give her pause. He added gently, "Just – I don't want you to feel badly about it. Dumbledore's formula always made what sleep I could get more restful, but it didn't do anything for the dreams."

Her expression was confused and a little frustrated. "Why?" she asked quietly, truly not understanding.

Making a final decision, he motioned to the kitchen chair across from him again. She sat and rested her hands on the wooden surface expectantly while he took a long swallow of coffee.

"According to Dumbledore," Sirius began, "the dementors are beings of a very ancient and very dark magic. Of course you remember what it was like just being in their presence."

Hermione gave an involuntary shudder at the memory and nodded.

"And naturally that's why they were such a... useful choice as prison guards against the worst criminals. What most people aren't aware of though, are the more permanent side effects of being constantly exposed to them. Being without a wand and a good, strong Patronus, or in some cases, the ability to shift as an Animagus, is the obvious vulnerability." He paused, his eyes growing distant as he added, "But everyone has to sleep at some point, and in sleep a whole other layer of psychological defences slips away..."

He cautioned a glance at her face and his lips pressed together in a narrow line. Her eyes widened in horror as the implication of his words sunk in.

He nodded grimly and explained, "It leaves a sort of – stain, like the imprint of their magic is left in your subconscious. That stain manifests itself in a twisted sequence of nightmare-like brain activity. It's not technically dreaming, which is why sleeping draughts don't work." Sirius shrugged tiredly. "Ancient and dark magic, Hermione – it's not something that can be spelled away. It's just something to live with."

She was looking down at her hands now. "You go through this the entire night? Every night?" she whispered.

"Yeah," he replied gently, for some reason feeling a little sorry for her.

Her eyes were still wide when they met his again. "Every night since - ?" She broke off and shook her head, her voice trembling as she asked, "How are you even alive much less sane, Sirius?"

He was once again surprised by her reaction, having expected that surely this little peek into his world would surface the inevitable pity from the witch.

She continued, "The human body requires a certain amount of sleep, of healthy R.E.M time..." She drifted off, shaking her head again, incredulous. By all standards he shouldn't be sitting across from her, a relatively healthy and seemingly sane human being. She remembered what he said about still 'dreaming' when he was behind the Veil and another shudder racked her as she realized what that meant. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft chuckle from across the table.

"Hermione, it's all right. I don't know how, but I've managed..."

"It's not all right, Sirius!" she exclaimed. "It's no bloody wonder you looked ten years older than you were. And don't you dare try and tell me to forget this and ignore it. Don't you put that on me, Sirius Black."

She stood up suddenly and continued to rant. "I suppose that now you want your precious pride over the actual sleep you've gotten in the past two nights? Well you can just kick me out and banish me from Grimmauld Place then, because I will not ignore it." She crossed her arms over her chest, her face flushed and eyes blazing challengingly.

They stared at each other in silence for several minutes. Sirius was struck with how gorgeous she was then, and thought wryly that he'd have to find more ways to piss off the bright little witch. Of course, he realized, that would require keeping her around. . . He clenched his jaw, wondering what possessed him to spill so much information to her. She was right - this whole thing was doing a number on his pride and he hated it. At the same time, there was no denying the effect her presence had on his ability to sleep.

His stomach did a slow flip as he suddenly remembered the rest of what Dumbledore had explained to him about the dreams...

_A wizened hand gripped his shoulder from behind the large armchair in the parlour. The rest of the Order had adjourned for the evening, and Sirius had taken up his usual station before the fire, nursing a tumbler of aged bourbon. He looked up as Albus Dumbledore settled himself into the armchair opposite him, the firelight glinting off his half-moon glasses._

_"How are you doing, Sirius?" the old wizard asked in genuine concern. Sirius wanted to remain angry with him, but he knew Albus was already well aware of what this house arrest was doing to him. While he wouldn't apologize for it, as it really was for the 'greater good,' the remorse was clear on his wrinkled features and in his tone of voice._

_All the same, the bitterness wouldn't shake off completely. Sirius replied with a sardonic twist of his mouth, "Well, I'm sure you can guess."_

_"How are you sleeping?" was Albus' next, very pointed question._

_Sirius glanced sharply at him. Seeing the expectant look on his face, he answered honestly, "Not so good."_

_It was then that the long explanation came forth - the very extent of dark power the dementors had, and the sickly little thumbprint they bestowed upon anyone unfortunate enough to spend so much time in their presence as to completely let down their guard. 'Dark and ancient magics,' the kind of which rivaled those that had taken his best friends, sick, twisted curdling magic against which there was little to no defence._

_"Always the bearer of sunshine and good news, aren't you, Albus?" Sirius smirked into the dying fire. Why the bloody hell was the old man bothering to tell him this if it was so obviously hopeless?_

_"Ah, but there is always something more powerful, Sirius, an even stronger and more ancient magic. You of all people should know that," Dumbledore reminded him._

_The younger wizard snorted derisively. "What – 'love'? That's going to cure these nightmares and give me a night's sleep?" he asked with a sneer, then muttered into the lip of his tumbler before taking another swallow of the amber liquid, "'f course, I wouldn't complain about getting laid once in a while."_

_"True love, Sirius," Albus pressed sternly, unimpressed with his host's crude commentary._

_"Yeah? And where the fuck do you see me finding that, Albus?" Sirius snapped. "I'm a bloody convict with a price on his head, I look and feel twenty years older than I am, my entire life is wasted, and now I get to spend what's left of it in this fucking house with naught but a wretch of a house elf and a repeat loop of nightmares, and oh, 'True Love' is supposed to make it better? Well fuck me, then." He hoisted himself up from the chair and stormed from the room._

_"Sirius," Albus called to him, "just – don't forget. Love often appears in the most unexpected places. Don't turn it away when it does."_

_"Right," he muttered under his breath, stomping up the stairs to his bedroom._

The old wizard's words resounded in his memory as he stared at the brunette witch before him, still flushed and belligerent in her insistence on staying. His heart pounded at the very idea before he quashed the thought. This was Hermione, after all – young, so young, but headstrong - a brainy, bossy little swot who was undoubtedly just hell-bent on proving she could fix this.

Then again, hadn't she fixed it, or at least helped a previously helpless situation? How much was his pride worth, anyway? She already knew his weaknesses - well, the unpleasant ones anyway.

Just then an errant breeze slipped past the kitchen door from the open parlour windows and he was inundated with her scent.

"I can't," he muttered hoarsely, a note of desperation in his voice for the predicament he found himself in. Unable to fully articulate that he couldn't ask her to leave, his pride to took a hit all the same because chances were, she knew exactly what he meant.

Her face relaxed a bit, but her expression was still cautiously expectant.

Sirius swallowed and looked down. "I wish I could, and it's pathetic, but I can't. Just – no pity, okay?" It was entirely new territory for him, and the awkward, naked feeling of admitting his vulnerabilities out loud to another soul bore down on him like a smothering blanket.

"Pity you?" Hermione asked, incredulous, a small laugh of disbelief escaping her but dying at the look on Sirius' face as his eyes darted to hers. She tilted her head and said, "Sirius, you've cheated death at least twice now, once quite literally. You've withstood horrors that would have destroyed any normal witch or wizard, and you worry that I might pity you?"

Suddenly weary of such deep conversation, his humor kicked in as a sort of defense mechanism. Eyes narrowing, he warned, "Careful with the flattery, love. You don't want me to get a big head - I might get the wrong idea."

Her lips quirked into a wry half-grin and she coughed. "Oh, well then, yes, er – poor poor Sirius with the big giant head..." she said in a teasingly rehearsed tone.

In an impulsive flash, Sirius suddenly had Hermione pinned helplessly to the counter, his fingers torturing her ribcage as she crumpled into a heap of ticklish laughter.

They were still laughing and gasping, doubled over, when a familiar male voice called from the front hallway, "Hello? Anyone home?"

Hermione had just straightened her rumpled clothes and pushed her wild curls out of her face when Harry entered the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

  
"Harry!" Sirius greeted him warmly, still chuckling slightly. "You just missed breakfast. What brings you by?"

Vivid green eyes darted curiously between his friend and his godfather, noting their flushed and disheveled states before glancing down at the table. He cleared his throat. "I er – came to apologize."

Harry looked up at Hermione as her shoulders stiffened. Still somewhat stung from their confrontation the day before, she forced a tight-lipped smile and gave a curt nod of approval. "I'll leave you two," she murmured, brushing past the two wizards and heading up the stairs.

"Hermione..." Harry called, but was interrupted by Sirius.

"Let her be for now, Harry. Can I get you anything? Butterbeer?"

Harry nodded and Sirius grabbed two bottles from the fridge before ushering his godson out to the back garden, slipping his sunglasses on his face. They ambled in silence to a stone bench that was bathed in warm sunlight. Sirius sat down and stretched languorously, turning his face once again to the sun with a sigh. It felt so good to finally feel it on his skin, to have some resolution to the conflict between yearning for the summer warmth and the painful sensitivity of his sight. He took a swig of the cool butterbeer and turned to his godson, who was studying him intently.

"Now, what's on your mind?" he asked with an easy smile.

"Sirius -" Harry opened his mouth and hesitated, unsure of how to begin. He'd been thinking on Hermione's words since she stormed out of his flat the evening prior and he truly felt like a heel. "I – I'm sorry," he struggled lamely.

Sirius opened his mouth to interrupt but Harry held up his hand. "You're my family, Sirius, but I haven't exactly treated you like it. I've really been a bit of a git, I suppose." He shook his head and continued unhappily, "I never even bothered to ask you what was wrong or how I could help. Instead I guess I just assumed you were..."

"...wallowing in self pity and being difficult?" Sirius finished quietly.

Harry flushed guiltily and looked up at his godfather, but found the older wizard smiling at him.

"Harry, you don't need to apologize to me. You've already got a lot on your plate as it is. And, to be fair, the last time you saw me alive I was doing just that – wallowing in self pity and being difficult. I could have told you what was going on, but..." He shrugged.

"What _is_ going on?" Harry asked. "I didn't even know you were without a wand until Hermione showed up on my doorstep yesterday and decked me."

Sirius couldn't help the incredulous laughter that rumbled from him. "She _decked_ you?" he asked, feeling a guilty twinge of delight that Hermione had evidently felt so strongly about him.

"Yeah, well, if you haven't noticed she has a bit of a temper," Harry grumbled, even as he realized with a pang that this had been the first time he'd heard his godfather really laugh since he'd fallen into the Archway of Death seven years ago.

"Well, I think you and I both know that's not just about me," Sirius said, a chiding tone creeping in. "And I also think if anyone deserves an apology it's Hermione, Harry."

The younger wizard fiddled with the bottle in his hands. "Yeah..." he muttered.

"What's this business about Ron leaving you two when you were on the run? You never told me that."

Harry frowned. "Oh she had to bring that into it, eh?" he asked in a defensive tone. "Did she also mention she dumped him right when he was going to propose because years after the fact she still couldn't let it go?"

Sirius' jaw clenched. "No, Harry, but she did say that was why everyone _thought_ they broke up. Did you ever bother to ask her the reason? Or did you just go along with the Weasley clan and their accusations? She's your friend too, you know." He watched his godson's mouth work wordlessly. He knew he was perhaps being a little harsh, but he couldn't help it. He'd been quietly stewing about this ever since Hermione had told him what had happened. And much as he loved James and Lily's son, Harry was managing to hit all of Sirius' buttons on the matter in a few poorly chosen statements.

"Although," Sirius added harshly, taking a swig from his bottle, "If you ask me, that was reason enough. It might not have been 'why', but it was a good indicator that they weren't right for each other. She didn't love him, Harry, not enough to marry him. And he didn't love her."

"How would you know?" Harry demanded testily. "You weren't there."

"_I_ would never abandon her, and sure as hell not in the woods in the middle of a fucking war!" Sirius practically roared.

Harry's eyes widened and he gaped at his godfather. Sirius saw his look of confusion and muttered, "I mean, if I had been Ron and truly been in love with her." He straightened and said in a hopefully more logical tone, "Harry, think about it – suppose you had been in Hermione's position, and Ginny in Ron's, and Ginny left you like that – would you have forgiven her?"

"Yes!" Harry argued, slightly triumphant.

Sirius smiled. "All right, and if Ginny had been in Hermione's position, and you in Ron's, would you have run off like that?"

"No, but that's not the same." Harry frowned.

"It doesn't matter, Harry," Sirius said with a sigh. "The point is that if they'd truly been in love, it wouldn't have been an issue either way. Hermione at least acknowledged that, and gave Ron his freedom before it was too late. But it sounds like everyone else was too busy pointing fingers to see that."

Harry's lips pressed together in a thin line. "She didn't even go to Ron's funeral, Sirius. What were we supposed to think?" he asked.

"She was barred from the funeral by Molly," Sirius growled, his teeth clenched. His patience was wearing thin for his godson. He got up from the bench and shook his head. His voice was thick with disappointment as he said, "You've turned more like your father as you've gotten older, Harry. But less like your mother. Lily's strongest suit always was her compassion, her empathy."

He pointed to the house. "More than once, that witch up there stood by you when no one else did, and I'd wager she's saved your neck more times than you can count. Yet rather than giving her the benefit of the doubt, rather than asking for her side of things, you let Molly Weasley's judgments and assumptions rule your friendship, and you left her to suffer Ron's death and everyone's criticisms alone. If you ask me, you got off light with just a smack across the face." He turned on his heel and sauntered back into the house, leaving his godson alone in the garden.

~oOo~

Hermione was unpacking the last of her trunks and shelving a set of books her former roommate had given her as a going away present when a soft knock sounded at her door. She absently waved her wand and let the door swing open before turning to see not Sirius, but Harry standing in the hallway.

"Oh. Hey," she greeted him awkwardly, motioning for him to enter the room.

"Hey," he replied, looking around at the suite, noticing all the things that made it obviously Hermione. When his gaze returned to his friend, he noticed she was watching him expectantly. He cleared his throat nervously and fidgeted with the corner of the bookcase next to him before deciding to jump in headfirst.

"Hermione, why did you break up with Ron?"

She flinched slightly at the unexpected question before recovering. "I thought everyone already knew why," she said sarcastically, turning back to the trunk she was emptying. Why is he bringing this up again, now? She wondered bitterly.

"You never told me your side of it," Harry said hesitantly.

"Well, you never asked," Hermione snapped.

"I didn't think I had to!" he retorted defensively, his ire rising.

The brunette swung around angrily and paused, looking at him wordlessly before her expression faltered into sadness. She shook her head. "I'm not going to do this with you, Harry," she muttered, moving to brush past him and out of the room.

_Shit_, Harry silently cursed himself.

"Wait - " He grabbed her arm, his strong fingers digging in slightly. "Wait."

She stopped but remained turned from him.

"Hermione – I'm sorry," he said pleadingly. "I'm really sorry. I should have asked you, and I should have been there for you. I'm sorry, okay?"

Her shoulders dropped slightly and she turned, leaning against the door frame. The corner of her mouth twisted and she looked up at Harry.

"We weren't in love," she answered simply.

Harry shook his head. "No, Ron loved you, Hermione," he insisted.

"Of course he did, Harry, and I loved him, very, much," she agreed with a sad smile. "But we weren't in love. We never were."

"But – all that time you were picking on each other and pursuing each other... And how do you know he wasn't in love with you? He was going to propose to you..."

She sighed and moved back into the room, sitting on the bed and motioning for Harry to do the same.

"Arguing isn't always an indication of romantic chemistry, Harry. I think we were both so immersed in trying to prove ourselves to each other that once we got together, it was like… like when the dog finally catches the car. We tried to make it work, because it seemed like it should have. That," she added, "and everyone seemed to expect it of us. But after a while, it obviously wasn't going anywhere. We didn't have what you and Ginny have, or Bill and Fleur, or even Arthur and Molly. And after all the teasing and suggestive remarks made about us at your wedding, I just couldn't keep up the act."

Harry watched her as she absently plucked at the hem of the bedspread before continuing, "The only thing that made Ron and I pursue each other was competition – it may have even gone back as far as our first year when I was such a nuisance and there was that whole Halloween incident. I was constantly trying to just get him to see me and accept me. The more I tried, though, the more inadequate I made him feel. That's no foundation for romantic love." She shook her head again. "He was furious when I ended it, because it was another blow to his ego, that I had been the one to dump him."

"That's not true," Harry argued.

"Yes it is," Hermione gently insisted with a smile. "He told me himself."

She chuckled at his confused expression and told him about the day Ron died, about the engagement rings and Susan Bones.

"Susan Bones?" Harry repeated, gobsmacked. "I had no idea. That explains why she was so torn up, though."

Hermione nodded sadly.

"You weren't at his funeral. Why didn't you tell someone Molly barred you from it?" he asked softly, but unable to keep the note of anger from his voice.

"What good would that have done?" she replied. "Even if anyone believed me, no one wanted me there."

"I wanted you there, Hermione! Didn't you ever consider that I might have needed you there, that I might have wanted to know the truth?"

"I couldn't do that." Hermione's voice was almost a whisper. "What would that have done to your marriage, Harry, to your relationship with the Weasleys? And besides," she added, looking away guiltily, "I wouldn't have gone to the funeral anyway. I was there when he died..."

"No one blamed you," Harry said quickly, then amended, "Okay, except for Molly, but she was already half mental before all of this anyway."

"I blamed me," she pressed.

"And then you just – left. You didn't even say goodbye, damn it," Harry accused, remembering his own hurt and confusion. "No explanation, nothing – what was I supposed to think? I know I should have asked you, but you weren't even fucking there, Hermione."

Her eyes stung as she realized Harry's perspective.

He saw the tears begin to well in her brown eyes and nearly kicked himself. Harry took one of her hands in his own.

"You shouldn't have had to go through that alone, and I'm sorry," he said gently. "But do you really think so little of yourself to believe it didn't matter to me that you ran away? Everyone thought what they did about your breakup because you never said anything to the contrary. Even still, they don't hate you."

She was definitely crying now, silently cursing her friend for dissolving whatever fighting spirit she had for the conversation. Harry pulled her into his arms and smoothed her hair as she snuffled pathetically into his shoulder.

"Molly does," was her only muffled counter.

Harry shook with a silent chuckle. "You're not wrong," he admitted before pulling back from her slightly.

He cupped her face warmly and wiped her tears with his thumbs. "But do we really care?" he asked, his green eyes twinkling before turning serious. "Really, Hermione. Everyone was worried about you. Ginny was pissed, but only because she knew how upset I was. You know how protective she gets."

"I'm sorry," she found herself saying. She bit her lip before adding, "And I'm truly sorry for what I said about Sirius' treatment of Kreacher, Harry. I really didn't mean that he deserved what happened to him, but I – I guess I worded it poorly. I can't blame you for being angry when I was so wrapped up in being an insensitive little know-it-all."

Hermione was sensitive to that particular character flaw, having suffered a misdirected relationship to it. After the breakup and Ron's death, she'd done a lot of soul searching and had made a concentrated effort to start fresh in America without bringing along that childish personality trait. For once in her life, she'd managed to gain academic recognition without pissing people off with her attitude. She'd made friends without feeling the need to prove herself or play the mother hen, and it felt good. It stung to be reminded of her past behaviour immediately on her arrival, but now maybe she could amend this particular instance of it.

Harry sighed. "It's all right, Hermione. I know you didn't mean it like that, but it took me so long to get over losing Sirius. I was angry even after the war, and I guess when I told Ginny about it, I was looking for someone to be angry at who was still living. I suppose she just tucked it away in her arsenal then. I'm sorry it came out like that. It was years ago..." He shook his head at all the misunderstandings that had pulled them apart.

Hermione only responded with a snuffle as she fidgeted some more with the bedspread.

"So... Are we good, then?" Harry asked hesitantly, a hopeful look on his face.

Hermione's lower lip quivered as she nodded. "I missed you so much, Harry," she warbled, throwing her arms around him with a hard sob.

Harry rubbed his friend's back gently until she calmed down and pulled away from him, offering a watery smile.

"And I'm sorry I hit you," she said sheepishly.

Harry laughed. "It's all right - I guess I deserved it. Although..."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, it's nothing," he hedged, mentally kicking himself.

She poked him in the ribs, causing him to jump. "You can't do that, Harry – just tell me!" she laughingly demanded.

He looked at the pretty brunette witch and considered the very strange but insistent niggling suspicion in his gut. If he was wrong, he'd get laughed at and teased mercilessly. If he was right, though...

"Is there something going on between you and Sirius?" he blurted in a rush.

Hermione felt the blood rushing up her neck and to her cheeks. She blinked in confusion. Was she that transparent? No, that's ridiculous – there was nothing to be transparent about. After all, there wasn't, and would likely never be anything going on between her and Sirius, regardless of the tiny little seed in her heart that refused to be plucked. A small laugh escaped her lips.

"Harry, I only got back a day and a half ago – why would you even think such a thing?" she asked.

"I know it sounds dumb, but Hermione – if you'd seen Sirius just a week ago..." He drifted off and shook his head. "Look, I just want you to know, if there is, I'm okay with it. I just want to see him happy. I think today is the first time I've heard him laugh since... well, since he left. So – whatever you're doing, thank you."

Now she did laugh. "Honestly, Harry – this is Sirius we're talking about. Don't you think I'm a little too nerdy for his tastes?" She meant it as an argument, but her voice sounded thin and insecure. She swallowed and patted his leg with a smile. "But of course I'll do whatever I can to help him."

"You're sure you're okay staying here? We have a second bedroom. It's small, but Ginny and I can - "

"Rubbish!" Hermione shook her head. "This is fine – I like it here," she admitted truthfully.

Harry beamed at her. "Brilliant, then. Listen, I have to head out, but I'll be back by in the next few days. You and Sirius are both welcome to come over any time, too."

She returned a patient smile. "We're working on that."

He gave a confused look then shrugged. "Right then, see you!"

Harry trotted noisily down the stairs and landed on the bottom floor with a loud thump, more like a kid than the 22 year old man he now was. As he rounded the corner to the hallway, his godfather's voice called him from the parlour. Harry poked his head in the doorway and squinted at the odd sight of Sirius sitting by a large open window with a book in his hand, wearing sunglasses.

"Harry," Sirius addressed him, "I was rather - gruff with you earlier, and I'm sorry. Did everything go all right with Hermione?" He knew it had, because despite trying to distract himself, he had heard the tail end of their conversation.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, grinning. "It really did. Man, I've really missed her."

"She's an incredible young witch," Sirius agreed quietly.

"I wish someone could make her see that," Harry muttered, a brief frown flickering across his face before dissolving into the smile that wouldn't completely fade now that he had both his godfather and his best friend back. He was about to ask about the sunglasses when the clock in the hallway chimed the noon hour, reminding him he was now late for work.

"Hey, I have to go to work, but I'll be back later this week. You and Hermione are both welcome over at the flat – we can have dinner some time..."

Sirius coughed. "First we'll discuss the little food charm you've been withholding and then we'll talk," he teased lightly. He let Harry splutter for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter. "Go to work, boy."


	9. Chapter 9

  
~oOo~

When Hermione descended the stairs a while later, she found Sirius in the back garden again, crouched by a glossy black and chrome motorcycle. He was murmuring enchantments at it, a series of white and gold shots of light flying around the bike in intricate patterns from his wand. It wasn't until she detected the smell of exhaust fumes that she realized the motorcycle was running, but silent.

Sirius glanced up at her after completing a charm and grinned. "My welcome back gift from Harry," he explained. "Haven't been able to do anything with it until now. I might enlist your help later with some work that needs to be done without the silencing charm, if you don't mind."

"I don't know anything about motorcycles, Sirius," Hermione said with a short laugh. "But we'll see." She had no intention of it coming down to that, however.

"I'm going out for a bit," she informed him, "but before I go, if you have a moment, would you be willing to let me scan you?"

He stood up, flipping the dark hair from his eyes. "Not satisfied with the St. Mungo's reports?" he asked, amusement lacing his voice.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Come on," she said over her shoulder as she returned to the house.

"Should I take off my clothes?" he teased as he followed her into the parlour.

"Just your shirt, please," she answered blandly.

Sirius gave a dramatic sigh. "That's not how I remember playing doctor with the other pretty little witches."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and fought back a blush as she Accio'ed a few medical supplies from her room. "Well, next time you find one, you can get right on that," she said coolly.

He stared at her in mild shock. "You're serious."

"No, you are," she quipped. "Hold still."

She waved her wand in an intricate pattern and a whorl of pale blue light descended on him starting from the crown of his head and spiraling down around his feet. She then tapped her wand to a small tablet she held in her other hand, sparing it a glance before setting it on the side table where it continued to record information on its own. Then she pulled a generic looking stethoscope and stopwatch from the bag on the table.

"I'm going to employ a few Muggle examination methods. I just want to listen to your lungs and your heart, and then we'll check your eyes."

She glanced up at him and paused, too aware of the glorious expanse of perfectly muscled chest before her, but also aware of the odd look in his eyes as he watched her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Do you really not know how attractive you are, Hermione?" he asked softly.

"Turn around and breathe deeply," she commanded, busying herself with listening to his lungs as she struggled with the sudden swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

"I think you've spent so much time cooped up that your perception is warped," she answered lightly. "Now breathe normally," she continued, focusing on not letting her fingers wander across his back. She frowned, realizing something just as he turned around to argue.

"Didn't you have tattoos?" she asked before he could get a word in.

"Yeah," he answered distractedly. "I don't know what happened there. I still have my scars, though, if you want to see." He reached for the button of his jeans and grinned wickedly.

"I'll take your word for it," she said with a smirk. "Now I want to listen to your heart."

She pressed the small metal disk to the left side of his chest, her own heart pounding as she listened to the strong rhythmic thumping that denoted that the man before her was so very much alive. His pulse was slightly elevated, but that wasn't uncommon when someone was being examined. She listened longer than necessary, lulled by the almost sensual sound of his heart beating in her ears, her fingers not quite touching flesh, but oh so close. Again she found her eyes wandering over muscles, across his sculpted shoulders, up the perfect column of male neck to his face where she found that he was studying her intently.

Hermione blinked and pulled away, murmuring that he sounded healthy. She glanced at the tablet that was still recording other vital information as she reached into her bag for her ophthalmoscope.

"Sirius, in order to check your eyes, I have to shine a small light into them very briefly. Do you think you can manage it?" she asked.

"Do what you need to," he replied patiently.

She had him sit as she examined his eyes. He flinched only once, then sat perfectly rigid while she worked as quickly as possible. Finding no abnormalities, she packed her tools neatly into their bag and looked over the tablet that had magically recorded his vital signs in great detail. Reading through, she couldn't help but feel a little frustrated to find nothing out of the ordinary. As her eyes drifted back to the top of the first page, however, they stopped.

"That can't be right," she mumbled, turning to Sirius. "Let me double check something – there's some kind of glitch with your age."

Hermione waved her wand again. This time she made a motion from Sirius to the tablet, as if pulling information manually. Her frown deepened as she read the results.

"Sirius, what is your date of birth?" she asked.

"August eighteenth, nineteen sixty," he answered.

"And when did you return to us?"

"Harry said it was April the third. What's wrong?" he asked, standing and looking over her shoulder at the report, more curious than concerned.

Hermione brought her hand up to her mouth thoughtfully. "That's..." She shook her head, and looked up at him. "According to this, your date of birth was the day you returned. April third of this year."

Sirius shrugged. "So it's just confused by the whole Veil thing, big deal."

"But it would make sense..." she muttered to herself before turning to him. "Sirius, you said when you were gone, you didn't have any sense of _form_, right?" When he nodded, she muttered, "Of course..." and started furiously jotting notes.

"Hermione?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yes. I'm done for now, thanks Sirius," she said distractedly, gathering her supplies and vanishing them to her room before heading toward the door.

He grabbed her arms and turned her to him, searching her face for – what? He wasn't even sure. He'd had an effect on her, he was almost certain – if for just a moment. Yet just as quickly it was gone and now she was off to do more research, likely. Was he so certain? Or was he just a science project?

His eyes slid over her features – the unruly curls that had been pulled haphazardly back from her face into a failing clip on top of her head, her fair complexion with the light dusting of little freckles across her nose, her imperfect but feminine eyebrows, the tiny scar at her right temple, delicate jawline, and that mouth he wanted to devour... Just then her lips parted slightly and his eyes met hers. There it was – that warm dark chocolate gaze staring transfixed at him through slightly heavy lids and indecent lashes.

Sirius smirked inwardly, satisfied for the time being. It would do no good to scare Hermione away, which is exactly what would happen if he followed his own desires at that moment. No, she was like a secret lock with an intricate combination, and he'd have to feel his way carefully through the right motions or he might be shut out for good. He loosened his grip on her arms, fingertips grazing her soft flesh as they pulled away.

Hermione blinked. "I – I'm sorry," she said softly, "I just..."

"...got carried away with work?" Sirius finished for her.

"Sorry," she murmured, and blushed, although she wasn't sure if it was for ogling him or for getting caught up in her findings. She knew the last thing he needed was to be made to feel like a specimen. However, if her theory was correct, it could mean a complete return to normalcy for Sirius, and she was anxious to get to work.

"I have a few ideas, Sirius," she explained, "but I need to do some research and use the computers at the Muggle library for a few hours."

An indecipherable look flitted across his face before he smiled. "No problem – I have a bit of catching up to do around here so I wouldn't be much company anyway."

She tilted her head curiously. "All right, then," she said with a quick nod, and went up to her room to get her bag. On her way out, Hermione spotted the black case of CDs she'd tucked into the bottom shelf of the large bookcase. Grinning, she grabbed it and went to find Sirius before leaving.

~oOo~

At one time, Hermione knew the East London Public Library like the back of her hand. It had been upgraded and expanded so much since her childhood, however, that now she barely recognized it. Scanning the directory inside the main entrance, she located the Technology and Media department and quickly set to work.

She found the computer terminals and pulled up the Internet browser, logging in to her email account. It had taken the better part of a year to get over the niggling feeling like she was betraying the magical world by resorting to Muggle technology, the irony of which was not lost on her. But, American communication security requirements had made methods such as owl post more of an inconvenience than anything, so it had become standard practice to just use email like everybody else.

Hermione sighed and selected several dozen spam messages, hit "delete" and waited for the slow terminal to execute the command. She missed owls, and wondered if Sirius would consider one. She thought of maybe purchasing one for herself, now that she was back in her homeland. Hermione drummed her fingers absently and glanced around the spacious third floor. Her eyes landed on the Media department, where people could check out CDs and DVDs. She grinned, recalling Sirius' excitement over her music collection. When she'd left Grimmauld Place earlier that afternoon, he had just inserted the first disk of her Led Zeppelin box set into the portable stereo. She didn't have a ton of classic rock albums, but her CD collection had grown in the last few years. She considered coming back another time to check out some more music for Sirius, maybe even dragging him along. It was quiet enough there that he might be able to tolerate it...

She glanced at the monitor and found her in-box was finally cleared of junk. Ignoring a couple of messages from classmates for the moment, she clicked on "compose" and began typing an email to her former colleague.

Anthony Ellis had gained a small bit of notoriety in American wizarding medical circles just a year before, for developing a charm that worked much like a hearing aid does for Muggles. Hearing loss wasn't as common among witches and wizards, and when it did occur, it wasn't treated directly; there were so many spells and charms out there that a wizard or witch with hearing loss could frequently get by with a mish-mash of fixes. However, once Tony had invented a valid treatment, his Amplifico charm had earned him a top position at Caruthers Medical Facility for Magical Humans.

It was a complex charm, in that part of it was cast by a certified healer, and another part by the patient on themselves, so that it could then be fully adjustable to meet their hearing needs. The second half of the charm used a system of varying qualifiers, such as Amplifico Forte, Amplifico Fortissimo, and so on. Tony's niece was a music student, which was where he'd gotten the idea of how to vary the volume levels.

While her colleague's work was designed only to increase hearing, it was the first thing that came to Hermione's mind when she learned of Sirius' sensitivities. In theory, there should be an inverse spell to Amplifico that would lower his overall volume perception.

She finished off her email and clicked "send," waiting yet again for the slow library connection to send the information before logging out. Then, swinging her bag over her shoulder, she went outside, found a secluded spot, and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Several hours later, Hermione arrived back at Grimmauld Place, frustrated and somewhat disheartened. Her first hunt through the library at Hogwarts had come up empty handed. Information on the Veil alone was minimal, with no record of anyone having been recovered after falling in. The only cases of heightened sensory perception in wizards or witches had been inborn and limited to select senses, or had been lycanthropic in nature. Being as how the full moon had been the night before, the latter was ruled out. The few inborn cases on record offered nothing useful to her.

The one small accomplishment of that trip was that Minerva had given Hermione access to the library whenever she wished. She'd also made arrangements to have Grimmauld Place attached via Floo network to Hogwarts since she'd be teaching there in the fall, anyway.

Hoping for a quick response from Tony, Hermione had stopped back by the public library to check her email, only to find an automated reply "from the office of Senior Resident Anthony Ellis," informing her that he would be out of the office for the next five days. She remembered he was going to a conference in India, and she had no other means of reaching him.

Instead of Apparating, she had taken the public transit back to the general area of Grimmauld Place, because it had afforded her time to think – a habit she'd picked up when living in the States. She knew what her instincts were telling her about Sirius' condition, but had nothing to either back up her theories, or refute them. And, while she had long since gotten over her aversion to asking for help, she simply wasn't willing to risk exposing Sirius by discussing the matter with anyone just yet. He'd obviously done his best to hide from both medical professionals and the public eye, and unless his life was in danger, she had to respect that.

Now she found herself on the front stoop of Number Twelve, disappointed that she had nothing to offer the wizard who was somewhere on the other side of the scarred old door. Hermione gently eased her way inside, careful to close the door quietly behind her. The bright afternoon sunlight rendered her momentarily blind in the dark interior of the old house, and defenceless against the even darker, massive figure that was hurtling at top speed in the witch's direction.


	10. Chapter 10

  
Hermione screeched and stumbled back against the door as something large, black, and furry slammed into her. Before her eyes adjusted to the dark enough to realize what it was, a deep, playful bark resounded from the thing that now stood on its hind legs, balancing its paws on her shoulders. A large wet tongue slurped the side of her face before her attacker bounced back to the floor and sat, wagging its tail happily, its mouth open in an amused doggy grin.  
  
“Augh!” she spluttered, wiping the slobber from her cheek disgustedly. In response, the dog gave a deep ‘woof’ and jumped into a play bow, preparing to pounce again any moment.  
  
“Don’t you dare!” Hermione laughed before crouching down and throwing her arms around the huge black dog as he sat before her again. He snuffled his cold wet nose into her hair and neck in response.   
  
“Padfoot,” she greeted him happily, scratching the Animagus affectionately behind the ears. Her fingers plunged into his fur, massaging his neck as she noticed how much softer his now glossy coat was compared to the last time she’d seen him. Hermione giggled when she found Padfoot’s sweet spot, his left leg thumping wildly as she scratched at his chest. When she stopped, he gave a low whine and promptly rolled over on his back in typical dog form. She quirked an eyebrow and rubbed the dog’s chest and stomach briefly, obviously avoiding his other parts as she fought back a blush. Padfoot made for a fabulous dog, but it was still Sirius Black in that package.   
  
Padfoot’s tail picked up speed and he wriggled slightly as if teasing her, and Hermione swatted him lightly on his side, “That’s enough, you,” she admonished, standing upright. He followed suit, quickly jumping up, and gave another bark before trotting toward the back door of the house. He turned at the door, looking back expectantly, and gave another excited bark.  
  
“All right, I’m coming,” she said, wondering what he was up to. When she pushed open the door, Padfoot streaked past her out into the last bit of sunshine and raced to the other end of the yard, chasing a couple of birds that had been peacefully pecking at the ground. Then he ran circles at top speed around the large oak trees, looping around the koi pond Harry had installed a couple years ago, then back to the trees where he found a decent sized stick and brought it over to Hermione, dropping it at her feet expectantly.  
  
She laughed. “You’ve got to be joking.”  
  
Padfoot cocked his head at her, then nudged the stick to her feet.   
  
“Okay,” she mumbled disbelievingly. Playing fetch seemed a little beneath Sirius, but then she never spent that much time with him in his dog form.  
  
She picked up the stick and looked at him. “You want me to throw it?” she asked, just to be sure. When he barked in response, she drew her arm back behind her and pitched the stick as far as she could. Which, as it turned out, was nearly to the other end of the yard. Padfoot raced after it, and in the last few meters leaped up with a grace that was beyond canine, catching the stick neatly between his teeth before it could land.   
  
Hermione couldn’t suppress her laughter as the giant black dog trotted his way across the garden with a cockiness that was all Sirius. It was when she was admiring just how shiny his coat looked in the glaring sunlight that it hit her...  
  
“Sirius?” she asked, a note of alarm in her voice.  
  
He sat before her and his ears perked up almost comically in response.   
  
“The light’s not bothering you?” she asked hesitantly.  
  
The Animagus answered with another soft woof as his tail wagged furiously. Then he stood and loped towards the house, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the young witch was following.   
  
When they reached the cool dark confines of the hallway, Hermione watched in awe as Sirius morphed gracefully from canine to human form. Four legs, shaggy black coat and long, sweeping tail shifted into two long, leanly muscled legs and a very firm bum encased in denim, a torso that looked so perfectly sculpted beneath the thin black tee shirt as to seem unreal, broad, strong shoulders and arms, and perfectly mussed raven black hair.   
  
Sirius turned to her just as her eyes were taking in his behind for a second time. She quickly looked away and he smirked to himself, fighting back a teasing remark.   
  
“To answer your question, no, it didn’t bother me,” he stated matter-of-factly, despite his own excitement. He continued to the kitchen and Hermione followed.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me this before? What about your other senses?” she questioned excitedly.  
  
“I didn’t know before today,” he explained as he pushed through the door at the bottom of the steps and went to pour himself a large glass of water. “I couldn’t transform until now. My senses as Padfoot are just as sharp as any dog’s, but no more than that,” he added.   
  
Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand – you couldn’t transform before? I thought Animagi didn’t need wands for that,” she said, assuming that was the reason.  
  
Sirius leaned against the counter and shrugged. “We don’t. But it was one of the first things I tried when I came back, and – nothing. Not even a spark. I was really a bit concerned,” he admitted with a small smile.  
  
“You thought you had lost your magical abilities.” How terrifying that must have been, she thought.  
  
He nodded. “Of course, when I got my wand I realized that wasn’t it. Then something you said about my date of birth got me thinking that maybe I technically wasn’t an Animagus anymore. So, while you were gone I found a copy of the texts on becoming on Animagus...”  
  
“Wait,” Hermione interrupted. “You ‘became’ an Animagus in an afternoon? Sirius, that’s not possible – it supposedly takes years...”  
  
He held up a hand. “The time it takes to become one is due to the learning curve and the mental focus on taking your chosen shape. I already had that covered, Hermione – that was still all up in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “The actual spellwork of it takes very little time. The rest is just research and practice.”  
  
“But Sirius - ” Hermione stopped herself, pressing her lips together in restraint.   
  
He grinned at her teasingly. “...I don’t know what could have happened? The process of becoming an Animagus is highly advanced magic and can go horribly wrong?” he quoted a well-known textbook passage.  
  
Her eyebrows slowly lowered into a frown. She turned without a word and busied herself with preparing dinner, feeling somewhat annoyed with both Sirius for his too-accurate imitation of her, and herself for the fact that she’d almost said exactly that. Was she still so predictable after all this time, or had she left that indelible of an impression in her youth?  
  
“Hermione...” Sirius said softly.  
  
“You’re a grown man, Sirius, you know what you can and can’t handle,” Hermione said a little too lightly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”   
  
He rested a hand on her shoulder, bare but for the narrow strip of her tank top, and pushed aside the acute awareness of her skin under his fingertips. She paused at his touch and turned, looking up into his face with a questioning smile. Suddenly he felt foolish. She was just expressing concern for his safety and he had to go and mouth off.   
  
“Sorry,” he said, smiling crookedly before changing the subject. “How did it go this afternoon?”  
  
“Well, my day wasn’t nearly as productive as yours.” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you help me with dinner and we can talk about it.”  
  


~oOo~ 

Hermione thoughtfully traced her finger around the rim of her wine glass. Dinner was cleared off, the dishes were being washed in the sink, and they were picking idly at a bowl of fresh berries and whipped cream as they discussed the details of Sirius’ heightened senses and his quick recovery of his Animagus status.   
  
“So your senses as Padfoot are normal, but in human form - ”  
  
“It’s still an overload. It helps that now I have pleasant sensations to add to the mix, though.” He smiled lazily, dipping another ripe strawberry in the cream and sinking his teeth into it. It wouldn’t do to inform her that as lovely as her cooking was, food was the least of what he was referring to.   
  
“Don’t you know what this means, though?”  
  
“Yeah, it means I can go out now and run around, at least as Padfoot...”  
  
“You can’t stay a dog forever, Sirius. I mean, a lifetime of dog chow?” she shook her head teasingly.  
  
“I’ve had worse and you know it,” he retorted, laughing at her shudder of revulsion as she recalled his living off of rats when he was on the run. “And besides, with the right mistress to rub my belly and throw sticks for me, it could be heavenly.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching languorously with a grin.  
  
“Mmm, well I suppose you wouldn’t be that difficult to adopt out. You’re already housebroken, right?”  
  
“Oi!”   
  
She laughed merrily, her brown eyes twinkling as she swallowed the last sip of merlot. Hermione still smiled, but her tone grew serious. “No, what this means is, whatever is going on with your senses, it’s not exactly physical. According to your scan, there’s nothing actually ‘wrong’ with you.”   
  
He frowned. “So what – it’s all in my head?” He sounded slightly insulted.  
  
“No! I mean, well, yes, but - not like that...” Hermione cringed, realizing this was not going at all the way she’d intended. She wouldn’t have even mentioned her theory to Sirius yet, had the issue of Padfoot not come up.   
  
“Start at the beginning,” he suggested coolly.  
  
She took a deep breath. “All right. Your tattoos are gone, as was any trace of being an Animagus. You say you had no sense of form in your time gone, correct?”   
  
“Right...” Sirius answered expectantly.  
  
“The physical scan dates your ‘birth’ as being three and a half months ago, even though you’re clearly a - a fully developed...” she swallowed the word ‘_man_’ – “...adult. Those scans aren’t wrong, Sirius. Ever.”  
  
He shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “Have you ever heard of carbon dating?” At Sirius’ quick shrug, she continued. “It’s a Muggle scientific method of determining the age of a non-living organism. All forms of plant and animal life have a certain ratio of two types of carbon in their makeup that’s constantly regenerating. When a living being dies, one of those types of carbon stops regenerating, and they use that variance in ratio to determine the age of the subject. Obviously it’s a lot more complicated than that, but...”   
  
Sirius nodded for her to continue.  
  
“Well, the physical scan we use in Healer work is a bit similar in theory to that. When it determines the age of the patient, it’s actually reading the witch or wizard’s physical form for certain molecular ratios and energy patterns on a quantum physical level. When they held the Tri-Wizard Tournament our fourth year, Dumbledore cast an age line around the cup – the spell he used was very similar to that. It’s never wrong. Ever.” She paused, trying to phrase her theory so she didn’t sound utterly mad.  
  
“So, you’re saying that this isn’t exactly the body I was born with?” he asked slowly, voicing her theory himself.  
  
Hermione looked up at him cautiously. “No one has ever fallen into, and then returned from, the Veil. We have no idea just what is - ”  
  
“And you’re never going to find out,” Sirius interrupted, his voice hard and determined. “No one is. There’s no researching that, Hermione. What you’re telling me...” He nodded. “That makes sense. That’s what got me thinking about repeating the Animagus process. But I’m not seeing where the link is with my senses.”  
  
“Well, you’re... new,” she said lamely and sighed. “The scan detected nothing out of the ordinary about your physical body, except that it’s ‘new’. Combine that with seven years of nothing in whatever form you were or weren’t in...” She shook her head and frowned. “I need to research that. I spent my day trying to find records of heightened senses among our kind, but I think this is more attached to the effects of sensory deprivation on the mind. But if I’m right, it may just be a matter of very slowly letting your senses acclimate to your surroundings.”  
  
“What, three months isn’t enough?” Sirius smirked.  
  
Hermione returned his look challengingly. “Not if you’re just being bombarded with light and sound and sensations that are more than your psyche and physiology can calmly process, Sirius. Nor if you spent the rest of the time avoiding any stimuli at all,” she added pointedly.   
  
He straightened and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “So you’re thinking the solution is just..." he motioned vaguely, "...baby steps?”  
  
“I don’t know for certain,” she admitted with a tone of defeat. “I couldn’t find anything in my research today, but I’m not giving up. In the meantime, it certainly won’t hurt to try baby steps.”   
  
She paused and added thoughtfully, “Very small and pleasant baby steps, mind. If I’m right, then I think you’d want to gradually lure your brain into a relaxed state of accepting various sensations. It’s rather like physical therapy, or any kind of body training – you want to exercise your senses without overdoing it. Those glasses I charmed should at least theoretically be doing that for you, since they adjust to the light levels the wearer needs. Until we have some similar helpers for your other senses, I’d suggest sensations that stimulate in a good way.” She nodded to the food on the table between them. “Foods you actually enjoy, for example, and music at low levels... Your sense of smell doesn’t seem too unhappy...”  
  
She looked up at Sirius to find he had glazed over slightly. “...Or not,” she mumbled. “Sorry – I still get carried away at times.”  
  
His eyebrows shot up, then his mouth quirked wryly. “Not at all, love,” he said in a voice like warm salted caramel. “I was just thinking of ‘pleasant’ sensations to experience.”  
  
Hermione swallowed as her cheeks grew warm. His tone was unmistakable, but he was clearly aiming at the wrong target. _The man is just starved – he hasn’t been with a witch in Merlin knows how long, and you just happen to be the only female sitting in his line of fire,_ she told herself.   
  
She gave a weak smile and nervously picked at the little green leaves still attached to some of the strawberries in the bowl on the table, “Yes, well – the other thing is that spending time as Padfoot will probably be helpful - ”  
  
“Hermione,” he interrupted her, closing his fingers around her delicate wrist to stop her fidgeting.   
  
She looked back up at his face to meet his intense gaze, his eyes now the colour of a stormy sea at twilight. They both remained silent as he held her in his firm grip. His thumb very lightly caressed the delicate pale skin of her inner wrist, and Hermione trembled almost imperceptibly, but he saw it.   
  
His lips curved upwards slightly. “This – this is pleasant,” he murmured.  
  
She squeezed her eyes shut and licked her lips. Grimacing, she forced herself to what she thought was some kind of sensible response and blurted out too cheerfully, “We’ll take care of this, Sirius, and before you know it you’ll be out there playing the field again, you’ll see!”  
  
He froze and when she opened her eyes, his look was unreadable. He gently placed her hand on the table and sat back from the table, his body language closing. The curve of smile was replaced by a flat line and his gazed dulled.  
  
“I’m sure you’re right,” Sirius said quietly. “Perhaps I’ll go out for a bit as Padfoot right now, actually.” He pushed back from the table quickly made his way to the door, muttering, “I could use some air.”  
  
Hermione looked down at her hands, now balled tightly on the old table top. _I’m sure you’re right..._ the words echoed. The truth stung, but it was better to hear it now and nip things in the bud than to continue on with this delusion that he might be starting to fancy _her._   
  
She heard the front door close and scooted her chair out from the table. Clearing away the dishes, she began gathering the necessary ingredients and supplies for brewing Sirius’ dreamless sleeping drought.


	11. Chapter 11

When Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place, it was well after one in the morning. He slowly opened the front door and slipped quietly inside, closing the door silently behind him before creeping down the hallway towards the stairs. A slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention as he passed the parlour. He looked in to see Hermione curled up on the overstuffed sofa, fast asleep with a novel still dangling precariously from her hand. It was cool in the old house, and she was only wearing a thin pajama tank top and cotton shorts. Sirius glanced around and found a large quilted throw that had been draped over an armchair. He gently took the book from her hand and settled the blanket over the sleeping witch, forcing himself to not actually touch her.  
  
He'd been running and wandering for hours as both himself and Padfoot, trying, and failing, to clear his head of the female now asleep before him. It still stung terribly. He cursed himself for being so bloody stupid. He’d made an utter fool of himself and probably terrified the poor girl. No, perhaps not terrified – she was a Gryffindor, after all. Still, she'd made it clear she wasn’t interested in the way he’d thought.   
  
Sirius frowned. Had he completely lost his touch, or his ability to read women’s signals? He thought it was like riding a bicycle, but then perhaps he was just a little madder than he’d originally thought. Why wouldn’t she be put off by him, especially after having only been here two days?   
  
He sighed and turned with dread to the stairs, pausing to check on the kitchen and douse any lamps still lit. He spied the cauldron on the counter, its contents at a low simmer. He remembered the recipe for the sleeping draught Dumbledore had given him, and that it had to simmer undisturbed for twenty-four hours before administering.   
  
Sirius thought again on the old headmaster’s words and sneered bitterly. ‘True love’ he recalled. Well, whatever the reason Hermione was helping him, was _able_ to help him at all, it wasn’t some bullshit notion of romance, that was certain. He didn’t know what it was, and part of him wanted to push her out of his life and lock himself away again, but the larger part of him couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not having tasted this little bit of peace, even if the price was his own pride.   
  
“Fuck it,” Sirius muttered angrily, making his way upstairs.  
  


~~

For the third night in a row, Hermione was pulled from slumber by the tortured sounds coming from the fourth floor of Grimmauld Place. She was momentarily disoriented, having woken up in the parlour, her book resting neatly on the side table, a quilt wrapped snugly around her. Hearing the sound again, she grabbed her wand and made her way to Sirius’ bedroom.

~~

_Warm, calloused hands smoothed her thighs, dragging her skirt hem up, bunching the material over her hips as fingers slid along the sensitive strip of flesh where thighs met pelvis._   
  
_“This...” his deep voice murmured hotly into her ear as he pressed against her from behind, “...this is pleasant,” _   
  
_She arched into him, feeling his hardness through thin layers of material, so close – he was practically nestled outside her exposed sex now and she rubbed against him helplessly. _   
  
_His fingers continued their path, closer to her aching wetness, teasing with just a hairsbreadth of distance so that she couldn’t stifle her soft moan._   
  
_“Is this what you want, my little bookworm?” he rumbled teasingly as he traced a line along her neck with his lips, his fingers still just hovering. _   
  
_She shifted against him imploringly, but he responded by moving his hands back to her hips._   
  
_“Tell me, Hermione,” he taunted in a whisper, pressing himself against her briefly then moving away, leaving her completely unsatisfied. _

  
Hermione opened her eyes with a small gasp. Disappointment and embarrassment flooded her as she realized she’d fallen asleep in his bed again. Her heart was still pounding as was the ache between her thighs when the warm male body behind her shifted slightly, his hand making a tiny circle on her hip before resting lazily. Her eyes widened in panic at the bulging hardness pressed against her backside. Hermione bit her lip and, with more restraint than she thought she could muster, she slipped out of Sirius’ bed, grabbing her wand before padding silently down to the second floor.   
  
When she reached the second floor suite, she immediately crawled in between the covers of her own bed. She let out a long breath and let her head sink heavily into the thick pillows, her eyelids fluttering shut. As soon as her eyes were closed, though, the heated details of her dream came back full force, as did the very real temptation of waking to Sirius pressed just as intimately against her. A molten, hungry heat pooled in her, despite knowing how inappropriate her feelings were.   
  
Her breath hissed softly between her lips as her hands slipped down to her abdomen, first imitating the movements from her dream, then traveling to where she’d so desperately wanted him to go before she’d awoken.

~

  
Sirius blinked slowly, mentally fumbling for whatever had awakened him. He reached across the vacant stretch of bed and frowned. The mattress was still warm and her familiar smell washed over him, pulling at him, reminding him of the series of dreamlike images that had likely put him in the rock hard state he was still currently in.   
  
He rolled over, groaning in frustration and dismay. Hermione had been laying in bed with him just moments ago... if she had accidentally brushed up against him, or worse – what if he had acted out his dreams by rutting against her? _Oh gods_ – if she was freaked out the night before, Merlin only knew what she thought of him now.   
  
Why did she have to smell so bloody good? He knew he should be ashamed of himself, yet his blood was still boiling from the detailed imagery his mind had conjured while they slept – her mass of dark curls fanned out on the pillow, her face a mask of beautiful ecstasy as he sampled every bare inch of her gorgeous body. He swore he could even smell her arousal...  
  
Sirius sat upright. _Impossible…_

He closed his eyes and, leaning his body over the space Hermione had occupied, he inhaled deeply. Once, twice, and once again – the smell of female arousal mixed in with her regular scent was unmistakable. A low growl escaped him. Painfully hard by now, he stood to go to the loo and relieve himself, but was interrupted by a faint sound two floors below him.   
  
Mentally justifying that she could be hurt or in trouble, Sirius crept from his room and silently descended the stairs to the second floor, pausing outside of Hermione’s closed door.   
  
His jaw slackened and his head fell back against the wall as _she_ flooded his senses – the air was so thick with the smell of her he felt drugged as he inhaled it in deep gulps. The sound of sheets rustling and her ragged breathing made his cock jump.  
  
He closed his eyes and let himself drown in it, not caring if it made him a pervert, not even caring for the moment if she was thinking of some other wizard while she touched herself. For the first time since he’d returned, he actually had some kind of mental desire attached to the male physical need that still arose with normal regularity.   
  
Also for the first time, he appreciated his overly acute hearing, as the sporadic little slurping sounds of fingers in wetness traveled through the large old door to his ears. His hand drifted to his hardness, stroking through the thin material of his shorts as Hermione’s breathing quickened into tiny, irregular whimpers.   
  
_That’s it love, make yourself come for me..._ he mentally urged her, his own hand slipping inside his boxers now, increasing its pace, matching hers.  
  
Her gasps and whimpers turned into incoherent muttering, and he nearly came undone when he finally made out his own name, repeated in breaths from those sweet lips. When her final, delicate cry escaped her, Sirius found his release, gritting his teeth to fight back his own moans.   
  
He stayed there, slumped against the hallway wall outside of Hermione’s bedroom as they both caught their breath. He listened for her breathing to regulate into the shallow rhythm of sleep before returning to his own room to clean up.   
  
Sirius didn’t understand. Why was she fighting him? Why was she skittering away from his advances if she obviously wanted him?   
  
_She wanted him._

He grinned triumphantly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. That was fuel enough for him to win whatever battle Hermione was waging against her own feelings. After all, he was Sirius Black, damn it. 


	12. Chapter 12

  
Hermione awoke to an empty house. After no sign of Sirius downstairs or in the back yard, she cautioned a peek in his bedroom. She was surprised and somewhat impressed that his bed was neatly made and clothes were put away. A warm, gentle breeze blew in from the tall window facing onto the street below.   
  
“Looking for something?” he asked from just behind her, making her jump.  
  
Hermione whirled around. “Merlin, Sirius! Don’t ever do that!” she clutched her chest and glared at him as he laughed.  
  
“Sorry, love.” He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the doorframe, chuckling warmly. “I was up early and decided to go out for a little run.”  
  
“Oh,” she mumbled, frowning at the lurch her heart gave at the sight of him. _Why did he have to look so damned gorgeous all the time?_ she thought grumpily. He was slouched in the doorway looking for all the world like something that had stepped out of an overpriced jeans ad, and she was just frumpy brainy nerdy Hermione. It wasn’t fair.  
  
The silence slowly dragged until Sirius pushed himself off the doorframe by his shoulder, still staring at her with that odd smile. “Have you eaten? Shall I make you breakfast?” he asked softly, extending his hand to her in invitation.  
  
She shook her head at him and walked past his outstretched hand into the hallway and down the stairs. 

_T__he sooner he’s able to get out and socialize, the better,_ she thought, deciding to focus all of her energy on finding a solution for his heightened senses as quickly as possible. It made no sense for him to be looking at her like that – he was obviously mistaking his feelings of gratitude for some kind of attraction. And the longer he remained isolated with only her to focus on, the more they would both be prone to buy into that illusion. The idea of him with some other, more attractive witch, made her gut twist unhappily as it was. But it would hurt a lot more if she continued let herself to fall for the dark-haired wizard.   
  
Sirius followed her into the kitchen. He insisted on helping with breakfast, which seemed largely to involve so much close contact and accidentally brushing hands that by the time Hermione was loading their plates she was practically shaking. She frantically wondered if he had any idea of when and why she left his bed last night.  
  
She was filling their mugs with coffee at the counter when he reached over her shoulder for the container of sugar, his body nearly flush with hers.   
  
Blushing with anger and arousal she noisily set the coffee pot down and swung around. “Sirius - ”   
  
“So, last night when I was out I discovered this park a few blocks over that was never there before – it must have been built while I was gone, but it has a pond and paths and everything,” he interrupted her, giving a smile that spoke of things completely unrelated to parks. He continued innocently as he sauntered over to the table, “It’s a beautiful day, Hermione, I thought maybe you’d like to take Padfoot out for a walk?”  
  
Hermione chewed her lip and fiddled with her toast. “I can’t,” she said, fighting back the twinge of guilt. “I have to go to the library.” It wasn’t a lie - she wanted to research sensory deprivation, and she also had to finalize her lesson plans for the semester that was starting in a few weeks. But, she was also aware that it made the perfect excuse to avoid spending time alone with Sirius.   
  
“I see,” he replied, his grey eyes narrowing slightly before he reached for the butter with a slight shrug. “Is this the Muggle library on the east side?” he asked casually.   
  
Hermione’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “You’re familiar with it?” she asked, surprised.  
  
Sirius nodded. “Lily used to drag James and me there on occasion, insisting that Muggle literature would ‘broaden our horizons’.” He chuckled.   
  
“Did it work?” she raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Well, James usually managed to use up all their library time snogging Lily somewhere between Social Sciences and History. I, on the other hand, achieved the broadest horizons of any wizard our age.” He smirked, adding, “with the help of one particularly pretty librarian, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” Hermione agreed with a light laugh, but jabbing at her French toast a little harder than usual.   
  
“That was so long ago.” Sirius shook his head thoughtfully. “We were just a bunch of horny teenagers who didn’t know any better.”   
  
“But you barely had anything of life to experience beyond that,” she added without thinking.  
  
He looked at her and replied, “I suppose that’s true – after Azkaban I never did know how to act my age.”  
  
Hermione blushed. “That’s not what I meant – I mean...” She sighed. “You shouldn’t have to be stuck inside again like this. You deserve to go out and experience everything you can -”  
  
“Hermione,” he stopped her. “I’ve had more than half my life to reflect on the past and brood over what could have been. Maybe the one thing I gained from that is appreciating the moment for what it is, and enjoying what’s right in front of me.”  
  
She looked at his unreadable expression for a moment before blinking and shaking her head, drawing herself up from the table. “I – I have to get going,” she muttered, taking a quick glance at the sleeping draught that was still simmering on the counter before exiting the kitchen.  
  
Sirius leaned back in his chair with a disconcerted sigh.  
  
“Smart girl, that one...” came a thin but smug voice from the painting over the kitchen hearth. Phineas Nigellus was picking through the bowl of fruit he had taken to visiting recently. “She won’t be played, you know,” he added casually.  
  
“What do you know?” Sirius growled impatiently without looking up.  
  
“A lot more than you think!” the ancient headmaster snapped in reply before plucking several grapes and gliding out of the painting, murmuring, “insolence... just as childish as ever...”  
  
Sirius stared gloomily into his coffee for several more minutes. He heard Hermione leave through the front door before finally getting up to clear away the dishes. Then, grabbing his sunglasses, he went to the front door himself and paused, considering. He slipped the glasses onto his face and opened the door to the bright morning sunlight. Stepping out onto the front stoop, he immediately closed his eyes and turned. When he opened them again, he was standing on a warm, sunny hillside overlooking the small town of Godric’s Hollow.   
  
The only other time he’d visited his best friends’ resting place was shortly after his escape from Azkaban. He’d snuck into the village after dark, under the cover of his Animagus form, and spent the night curled at the foot of the two white gravestones. Now, he paused on the hillside, listening intently before making the decision to two-foot it down to the village square. The town was reasonably silent as it was midmorning on a weekday, and most of the Muggle residents had already commuted into London.   
  
Sirius paused at the obelisk, watching it shift into the statue of the Potter family, indulging in the familiar ache that spread through his chest before crossing the street to the church graveyard.   
  
Whereas Azkaban had ripped so many memories and emotions from him as to make grieving the deaths of James and Lily impossible, Sirius’ time in the nothingness of the Veil had afforded him the exact opposite. Every memory and feeling seemed to have been returned to him full force, and in bright vivid detail. He’d had nothing but time to pick through the pain and grief, and now, as he approached the two bleached stones, the loss he felt was old, familiar - a dull melancholy.   
  
He conjured a bouquet of pale, sweet lilies and laid them on the grave to his left after sweeping away the debris from both sites. Then, looking down on the stone with James’ name, he lowered himself to the ground, folding his legs up Indian-style.  
  
Sirius sighed. “Well, Prongs, I’m back again. Don’t know exactly why...” he drifted off.  
  
“Damn it, I wish you were here.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Both of you. There’s no one left, and, and – and Harry’s all grown and having a kid of his own, and I don’t fucking know who to talk to about this. She’s his best friend – your son’s best friend, and I swear I never even considered her before now because Merlin – I was old enough to be her father, but now no one knows how old I am and oh Lils, you’d just love her – you both would. She’s a bloody know-it-all, but she’s just incredible. And it’s only been a couple of days but...” He gulped, unable to even say it out loud to the silence of the graveyard.   
  
“I can’t just play her, James," he blathered desperately, "and I don’t want her that way anyhow. Hell, everyone acts like I’m this Casanova, but I haven’t even kissed a woman in nearly a decade...” Sirius continued muttering for the better part of an hour, working through his thoughts and feelings for the genius witch who was quickly taking up residence in his heart.


	13. Chapter 13

When Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place, it was with new focus and sense of determination. Somewhere in the course of his thought process, he realized that whatever there was between he and Hermione, it went beyond sexual attraction. If he only wanted sex, he could have managed it months ago, even in spite of his heightened senses.   
  
Dumbledore’s words about his night terrors kept floating to the surface of his mind, and while he wanted to push that thought away, it bore some significance that this specific woman was able to pull him from those icy black fingers with just a touch and a few whispered words.   
  
It was because of this that Sirius hadn’t just seduced her outright; Merlin knew she was practically begging for it all morning. At the same time, he sensed she was distancing herself. While he had yet to figure out exactly why, he knew if he pushed the wrong way, it could backfire. And so, he decided to wait.  
  
He was certain that wherever James, Lily, and Remus were now, they were enjoying this thoroughly.

  
~oOo~

  
Three dull, rainy days had passed in much the same way: Hermione, having fallen asleep in Sirius’ bed after coming to sooth his episodes, would awaken early and sneak out of the house to spend the day at the library. His night terrors seemed to be weakening slightly in that it took less and less time for Hermione’s presence to have an affect, but they were far from disappearing. The sleeping drought she had brewed had actually made matters worse by relaxing what mental defenses he had against the dark imprint of the dementors.   
  
They both avoided any further discussion of the situation; Sirius loathed that he was burdening her, but she was the one who insisted on staying and dealing with it. He thought it was ridiculous that Hermione would either stay up late with her nose in a book, or pretend to go to her own bed until she heard him thrashing around upstairs. Then, she’d slip into his room and curl into him once he’d calmed down, and they’d sleep peacefully, fitting perfectly into each other’s arms until she slipped out again in the early morning hours.   
  
And there was nothing at that damned Muggle library that was taking three days’ worth of research.   
  
On the fourth day, the sun peeked out of the clouds and graced London with another beautiful August morning. Sirius was done waiting. After a quick breakfast, he donned his sunglasses and stepped out onto the front stoop again, this time digging into his memories from decades ago to find the recollection of a particular alleyway.  
  
Upon Apparating, Sirius quickly shifted into Padfoot before the sounds and smells of the busy east end of London could overwhelm him. While he was confident he could have found the public library on sight alone, it helped greatly that evidently he’d chosen the same Apparation point as Hermione, and her scent created a strong and clear pathway to the large glass doors two blocks over.   
  
“Puppy!!” a child’s voice called, pointing to the large, black dog that was padding up the steps to the library. The little girl of about four years of age dragged her mother’s arm by the sleeve, approaching the beast fearlessly.   
  
Padfoot immediately sat, his tail wagging happily. Before the mother could get a word of caution in to her daughter, the child had thrown her arms around the neck of the dog, giggling as he gave her face a gentle lap.   
  
As the mother and daughter scratched his ears, Padfoot eyed the doors to the library, noticing they were the automatic kind he’d seen in some Muggle department stores.   
  
“Okay, Isabelle,” the mother finally pressed, “it’s time to say goodbye to the puppy so we can go meet Daddy for lunch.”  
  
“Bye puppy,” the girl complied, giving another hug to the dog and pressing a kiss on the top of his nose. Padfoot gave a soft ‘woof’ in response.   
  
“I’m sure your owner will be out soon, dog,” the mother said as she patted him.   
  
_Humans,_ thought Sirius, grinning inwardly.  
  
With a quick glance around to make certain he had a good head start, he trotted through the entrance as the glass doors slid aside, tracking Hermione’s scent to the third floor where she sat at a long table filled with what looked like small, white television sets. He set off for a run, making sure to be seen by the woman behind the counter near the top of the stairs, coming to a stop beside the brunette witch. She was so completely focused on her note taking, that she didn’t notice him until he shoved his nose against her elbow, nearly causing her to spill the bottle of ink.   
  
“Hey!” she exclaimed, but was cut off by a thickly built middle-aged woman who was rounding the corner in a huff.  
  
“Miss!” the clerk hissed at Hermione. “Miss! Is that your dog?”  
  
“I-” she began, confusion turning into embarrassment.  
  
“He is not allowed in here, Miss!” she scolded.  
  
“I – I’m so sorry, he must have followed me in...” Hermione stammered, trying to diffuse the situation. Other people in the library were now looking around corners and staring at the girl who was not only writing on parchment with a feather quill and ink next to the computer terminals, but had evidently seen fit to bring a big black dog into the public library.  
  
“If you don’t remove him this instant, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” The larger woman’s eyes began to bulge slightly.  
  
Hermione’s jaw clenched. “I am taking care of it,” she gritted through her teeth, “that is, if you are quite through making more of a scene than is completely necessary.” She did not take kindly to being scolded or treated like she, of all people, didn’t know how to behave in a library.  
  
She quickly scooped up her personal belongings and turned to Padfoot. “Come on, _Snuffles_,” she whispered sarcastically.  
  
The Animagus cocked his head and let out a clear bark, making Hermione turn even redder in the face. “Oh, will you just come on,” she muttered angrily, stalking off towards the staircase.   
  
Padfoot trotted ahead of her, and when they reached the second floor he looked quickly around and darted down a row of shelves to a secluded corner, forcing Hermione to chase after him. By the time she caught up, Sirius had shifted back to himself and was casually leaning against a shelf, his arms crossed over his chest, shades pushed up over his head, his mouth set in a cool smirk.  
  
“What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?” Hermione stormed in a whisper.  
  
“Rescuing you,” Sirius said matter-of-factly, his voice clear but quiet.  
  
“Rescuing me? Oh that’s rich, Sirius. From what – the public library?” she fumed.  
  
“No, I am rescuing you from wasting another day of your sweet, young life being cooped up in this sterile building on a perfect summer’s day,” he replied coolly.  
  
Hermione sighed. “I am trying to research to help _you_, Sirius-” she began.  
  
“-and I appreciate that, love, I really do. But did you know something incredible about libraries? They have this wonderful system where you can actually borrow the books you need, and even take them home with you!”   
  
She glared at him angrily, but he merely smiled sweetly in return. “Now, I am giving you exactly five minutes to check out whatever books are so bloody important that you’ve been living here for the past four days, or I’ll make damn sure your pet dog gets your sweet little arse banned from ever coming back here. Are we clear?”  
  
Hermione’s mouth dropped open and she gasped. “You wouldn’t...”  
  
Sirius grinned, plopped his glasses back down on his nose, and sauntered away, shifting back into the giant black dog that was causing a wave of drama to travel throughout the library. He let out a low ‘woof’ over his shoulder at the witch before trotting down the next flight of stairs.   
  
Hermione grumbled, stomping noisily back up to the third floor and ignoring the smirk on the librarian’s face as she gathered her belongings and the books she wanted. She didn’t know who she wanted to hex more – the smug looking Muggle or Sirius.  
  
When she met Padfoot outside, he was charming two more small children and a mother. He barked happily at Hermione as she approached, and the mother turned to her.  
  
“Is this your dog? He’s just wonderful, and so well-behaved!” the young woman gushed.   
  
Hermione bit back a sour remark. She was distracted by the sight of Padfoot doing tricks for the twin boys. She couldn’t help but smile at the sound of their laughter as he rolled around on the ground for them.   
  
After several moments, the mother pulled her children away from their new canine friend and Hermione turned to him, hands on her hips.  
  
“Well, now you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” she asked in an exasperated tone.  
  
Padfoot’s reply was a low growl before he turned and trotted down the steps. Looking over his shoulder again, he barked at her to follow. Hermione rolled her eyes and stuffed her books into her shoulder bag, inconspicuously shrinking it to a lightweight bundle before jogging to catch up with Sirius.  
  
He led her to a takeout stand where, although slightly miffed at his audacity, she purchased a box of chicken and assorted lunch items for them. Then they stopped by a small corner market where she bought a bottle of wine and several bottles of water before he led her into a dark and isolated alley.  
  
He shifted back into Sirius and quickly grabbed her arm, turning and Apparating them away to a location unknown to her.  
  
They arrived on the side of a tall hill overlooking a huge, sparkling lake. Hermione stumbled at the sudden incline, but Sirius held her waist to steady her before leading them down a small pathway to the bottom. He took the package of food from her and they walked in silence, his other hand still pressed gently at the small of her back. When the land flattened out, Hermione let out a small gasp as she realized the ground was covered in a blanket of delicate wildflowers. The shore of the lake was still a distance away, but she could hear the gentle lapping of the waves on the shallow beach as the breeze blew across the water.   
  
She turned to see Sirius spreading out a blanket he had conjured, and carefully laying out their lunch as well as the books she'd checked out of the library.   
  
“Sirius, what is this place?” she asked, her ire quickly melting in the summer warmth.  
  
He answered without looking up from his task, “Just a place where we used to run – Prongs and Moony and me.” he shrugged.  
  
“I see,” she answered softly, dropping to her knees to join him on the blanket.   
  
Sirius finished emptying the contents of their bags and leaned back on his heels, looking at her directly. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked plainly, without accusation.  
  
The frankness of his question took Hermione by surprise, and his gaze was piercing even through the filter of the dark lenses. She sighed, knowing it would be insulting to even try to lie to him.  
  
“Sirius, I’m leaving for Hogwarts in less than a month,” she reminded him.  
  
“So, you’re avoiding me because you think I’m going to get too attached, otherwise?” he asked lightly, his eyebrows raised.  
  
She frowned at her plate of food and chewed her lip before muttering without thinking, “Or maybe I will.”  
  
Her frown deepened as she questioned why in the hell she would confess something like that, so she missed the pleased grin that flashed over Sirius’ features.  
  
“That’s not even a remote possibility,” he said warmly as he leaned over to fill her wine glass.   
  
Hermione gave a small laugh. “I suppose unlimited quantities of adoration from witches is a welcome thing to the infamous Sirius Black?”  
  
“Not just any witch, Hermione,” he answered soberly.  
  
Her eyes darted to his face and she was caught in his intense look for just a moment before she tilted her head and a surprised grin lit up her face.  
  
“What is it?” Sirius asked with a cautious laugh.  
  
“I can see your eyes!” she said delightedly.   
  
He shook his head. “I don’t – what do you mean?”  
  
“The glasses, Sirius – they’re lightening in strength, which means they’re working!”  
  
“Which means you were right, then?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “I think maybe so...”  
  
He grinned teasingly. “So you won’t be needing these Muggle books, then, I suppose?”   
  
She glanced down at the pile and frowned. “Hey, these aren’t the books I checked out!” She picked up an anthology of poetry by E. E. Cummings, and noticed several other literary works, but not a single resource of sensory deprivation that she had been perusing the last few days.   
  
Sirius smirked and rolled over onto his stomach, picking up the book of poetry and flipping it open before proceeding to read aloud to her, pointedly ignoring her observation.   
  


~oOo~

  
Sirius considered the next morning to be a small step in the right direction as he was woken up by the small movements of Hermione leaving his bed at a much later hour than usual. He hazarded a quiet “good morning” as she reached his door, and was answered with a shy but warm smile before she turned the handle.  
  
They had breakfast together again, but his expression soured when she announced she was returning to the library again that day.  
  
“Do you want to hang on to the books you checked out or shall I return them?” Hermione asked casually.  
  
“Just take them back, I s’pose,” Sirius grumbled, stabbing at his eggs.   
  
Hermione fought back a laugh at his pout and instead quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well, I’d better get going, then,” she said brightly.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> The musical terminology used here for dynamics is defined as follows: 'pianissimo' means 'very soft', 'piano' means 'soft', 'mezzo piano' means 'medium-soft', 'mezzo forte' means 'medium-loud', 'forte' means 'loud', and 'fortissimo' means 'very loud'.

~oOo~

  
Sirius was in the back yard tinkering with his motorcycle when he heard the front door slam and quick feminine footsteps clatter across the old wood floor of the hallway.  
  
“Sirius?” Hermione’s voice called excitedly.   
  
Before he could respond she was on the back porch. His breath caught at the brilliant smile that graced her countenance.   
  
“There you are!” She trotted down the porch steps over to him, practically bouncing. “Come on!” she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the open patch of yard near the house.  
  
“What is it?” he chuckled, enjoying the perfect fit of her hand in his.  
  
Hermione swung around and cocked her head thoughtfully. “I think this will do,” she murmured, then closed her eyes and pointed her wand at the house. Almost immediately he could hear one of her CDs blaring from the kitchen.  
  
“Hermione, what are you - ”  
  
“Shh! Can you hear it yet?”   
  
“Yes, clear as day, but why-”  
  
He winced in anticipation as the music got louder and more annoying, but it stopped right at the threshold of unreasonable.  
  
“There,” she said and turned to him. “Now I can hear it, barely.”  
  
Sirius looked at her questioningly.  
  
“Sirius, did you ever study music as a child?” she asked, pulling a folded bit of parchment from her jeans pocket.  
  
“Sure, Reg and I had to – it was expected of society children.” he smirked.  
  
“Do you remember any of it? The terms for volume dynamics?” she specified.  
  
He shrugged. “You mean like forte and mezzo piano and stuff, right?”  
  
She nodded excitedly. "Great. Now, I’m going to teach you a wand movement – it’s intended for yourself, so you’re actually going to point the tip straight up above your head, like this...” She raised her wand arm and made a slow but intricate gesture above her head.  
  
Going along with it, Sirius mimicked her movements perfectly. She had him practice it several times before she said, “Okay. The charm works in varying degrees around the word ‘Attenuo’, the degrees being specified by differing levels of loudness and softness. So, you want to do the want movement and I’d probably start out with a medium-soft level, so - ” Hermione glanced down at the piece of parchment with her notes.  
  
“-So ‘Attenuo mezzo piano’ then?” Sirius guessed, recalling his music lessons from early childhood.  
  
Hermione nodded. “Yes, exactly.”  
  
He glanced down at her and spoke the words with the wand movements, then frowned.  
  
She grinned. “Hold on – it’s not going to do anything until I do my part. But – you know the varying degrees of volume, right?”  
  
“Sure,” he replied impatiently.  
  
“All right, then.” Hermione faced him and pointed her wand silently at his head. A thin stream of pale blue light swept around him, but Sirius otherwise felt nothing. He gave her a hesitant look and she nodded, silently gesturing for him to perform the charm.  
  
Sirius took a deep breath and pointed his wand upward, feeling a little skeptical but more concerned about disappointing the enthusiastic witch standing before him. With a swish of the rehearsed movements, he muttered the incantation, “Attenuo mezzo piano...”  
  
As if someone was slowly turning the volume knob, the sound of the music coming from the kitchen decreased significantly. The more peripheral sounds of his outdoor surroundings that created a constant chatter to his ears faded away until only the closest noise sources remained - the birds in the trees, a passing car, the little splash of the fish in the koi pond.  
  
Hermione’s brown eyes watched him as she bit her lip expectantly.   
  
He repeated the movements several more times, muttering different levels of the ‘Attenuo’ incantation each time, growing more and more excited. He finally settled back to ‘Attenuo mezzo piano,’ which he knew was still a bit louder than probably normal, but anything softer sounded too muted compared to what he was used to. The quiet settled over him peacefully, and he felt his muscles relax from the ease of a tension he hadn't even been aware of before.   
  
Sirius finally looked down at the brunette witch who was biting back a grin. He shook his head briefly, then burst out in a loud bark of triumphant laughter. “My brilliant little witch!” he exclaimed joyfully, grabbing her shoulders and planting his lips firmly against hers without even thinking.  
  
The feel of her mouth broke through his giddiness and suddenly he was aware that she was standing perfectly still. He mentally cursed himself and was about to pull away when her lips softened and moved hesitantly against his, inviting him to kiss her properly this time.   
  
The calloused grip on her shoulders softened into a caress as his lips brushed against hers with tantalizing slowness. He took his time, reverently sampling just those two pink petals. Her lips parted slightly as his kisses deepened, his tongue barely teasing at hers for agonizing moments.   
  
Hermione whimpered softly as Sirius’ hand skimmed slowly over her collarbone and throat, resting at her neck, his thumb tracing over her jaw line. He responded to the sweet sound by sweeping his tongue against hers more fully, groaning at the taste of her.   
  
He felt certain he could have stood there for eternity, just kissing this incredible witch, but they both had to breathe at some point. When they slowly broke away, Sirius noted with a deep sense of pleasure the heated look on Hermione’s face. Her eyes were the colour of very dark chocolate, her pupils dilated, and her face bore the loveliest flush of pink.   
  
He gave a little smile of wonder at her before kissing her lightly on her forehead and trailing his fingertips down her bare arms.   
  
“Hello, Harry, been here long?” he called over his shoulder with a tinge of annoyance, causing Hermione to start.  
  
“Oh, Gods,” Hermione mumbled at his elbow before quickly making her way into the house, brushing past Harry.  
  
“Hermione...” Sirius called after her.  
  
Sirius felt a twinge, seeing the spitting image of James leaning casually against the railing post, green eyes twinkling behind his glasses and an amused smirk finishing his smug expression.  
  
He blinked away the mental ghost and glared up at his godson. “Well, obviously you aren’t terribly bothered by this, so might I just say you have impeccably bad timing, Harry.”   
  
He made to go after Hermione, but Harry stopped him. “Let me, Sirius.” He swung around and went inside to find his best friend.

  
~oOo~

  
“You know, if you keep running to your bedroom for a cry every time I come over, I’m going to start taking it personally.” Harry chuckled from the half-open doorway of Hermione’s bedroom.  
  
Her head popped up from where she was holding it in her hands.  
  
“I’m not crying!” she snapped at him.   
  
He held up his hands in supplication. “All right, all right. I’m sorry I interrupted you two, though.” He was unable to keep the grin out of his voice.  
  
“Oh, just stop it, Harry,” Hermione grumbled unhappily. “It’s not like that and you know it.”  
  
“Like what?” he asked innocently.  
  
She glared at the wizard. “There’s nothing ‘going on’ between Sirius and I, and there’s not going to be. He’s just grateful for my help, and he’s been cooped up in this house too long,” she said miserably.  
  
Harry blinked at her. “So... he was snogging you senseless out of gratitude and boredom?” he asked in a tone of disbelief.  
  
Hermione looked down at her hands. “Harry, he hasn’t been with a woman in years – I’m just what’s here.”  
  
Harry’s smile faded and he pulled up a chair to sit across from her. “I see. So Sirius is not only blind but he’s an unfeeling and desperate idiot?”  
  
She frowned. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. But this is me we’re talking about, here. I’m not Sirius Black material, Harry. He hasn’t even had a chance to be with other women-”  
  
“Stop right there,” he laughed. “Yes, he has, Hermione. I’m still not exactly welcome at the Three Broomsticks because he caused such a mess by rejecting Rosmerta of all witches.”  
  
Hermione's lips curled unhappily. She shook her head, not feeling like going into the whole argument. “I’m not the witch for him, Harry, let’s just leave it at that.”  
  
“No.” He insisted. When she gave him a startled look, he sighed. “I honestly don’t know how someone so brilliant can be so dense,” he muttered to himself.  
  
“Hermione, I know you don’t see yourself the way everyone else does, and I don’t know how to make you see how gorgeous you are. I mean, if you weren’t my sister in every way but blood, I’d have a hard time keeping my hands off you myself.”  
  
“Harry!”   
  
He ignored her and continued, “You don’t give yourself enough credit at all, but what’s worse is you’re not giving Sirius any credit either.” He shook his head. “After everything he’s been through, are you so convinced he’s such a shallow person? Do you really think he doesn’t know his own feelings? And what about you, Hermione?”  
  
She looked at him, confused.  
  
“I saw the way you two were kissing,” he said gently, picking his words with care, “Can you honestly  tell me that Ron ever kissed you that way? Or even Krum, who had a track record a mile long by his fifth year, much less his seventh?”  
  
When she didn’t answer he placed a hand on her knee. “If it’s nothing, then so be it. But I hope after all that happened with Ron, you’d know better than to turn away from something really great just because of your own insecurities.” He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek before standing, leaving her motionless, perched on the end of her bed.

  
~

  
Harry was just getting ready to leave when Hermione descended the stairs. He beamed up at her and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for Sirius,” he mumbled into her hair, “and remember what I said, okay?”   
  
She nodded and smiled at him, still feeling shaky about all he’d given her to think about.  
  
“We’re going to try to meet up for dinner some time next week. I’ll owl you in a few days.” He glanced at Sirius, who nodded, and let himself out the front door, leaving the two in the silence of the hallway.  
  
Hermione remained on the stairs and stared uneasily at the dark haired wizard while he watched her contemplatively.   
  
Finally Sirius raised his eyebrows and smiled easily. “There’s still quite a bit of day left, and you said you’d accompany me to Diagon Alley when I was ready.”   
  
He held out his hand to her and waited, his grey eyes filling with warmth when she finally accepted it and let him lead her to the front door.

  
~

  
Hermione lay in bed and stared at the ancient plaster ceiling; the curtains of the old canopy bed, molded and rotted, had been tossed away ages ago. She played through various scenes of the day in her head, carefully avoiding the memory of her kiss with Sirius in the back yard in order to maintain some perspective.   
  
They'd spent the rest of the day taking in Diagon Alley. It was impossible to maintain her somber introspection when she was in Sirius’ presence. His childlike enthusiasm had only been broken by moments of nose-wrinkling distaste at certain smells, usually coming off of other people. He’d kept her close all afternoon, even as certain witches and wizards recognized him and vied for his attention or conversation.   
  
While he kept his focus on her throughout the day, his behaviour was nothing more than warmly platonic. Even after dinner, their time spent in the dim parlour was quiet, each reading in comfortable silence, until Hermione finally unfolded herself and announced she was going to bed. Sirius’ response was nothing more than a smile and a soft ‘goodnight.’   
  
Hermione frowned, willing it to not bother her as she turned over and stared at the little white lotus blossom still sitting on her bedside table. She curled her knees up to her chest as Harry’s words played over in her head, in direct conflict with Sirius’ casual regard throughout the day. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable sounds of his struggles from the fourth floor.


	15. Chapter 15

Shifting faces and twisted memories attacked him, a dark strangulation slipping its way around him once more. He curled and heaved, struggling against it, while part of him almost waited expectantly for her, for the sweet whispers and delicate fingers that would gradually pull him out of the growing mass of snarling blackness he couldn’t seem to escape alone.  
  
What caught his attention this time wasn’t the familiar soothing whispers though, but a distant cry in the same voice. Faint but clear, broken words of fear and hurt, and she wasn’t coming for him because she needed someone to come for her.  
  
Sirius awoke with a cough, his muscles still twitching in familiar spasms. He glanced around the darkness of his room, frowning at the emptiness. Then he heard it – a distressed cry from the second floor that caused a small jolt in his senses. He grabbed his wand and quickly made the familiar path to Hermione’s room.   
  
He quietly pushed the door open to find her on her back, eyes closed, her hands clutching a bundle of sheets against her chest while shaking her head against some unknown nightmare.   
  
“Not like this, not him...” she mumbled pathetically. “Please... not Sirius... no!” Shudders wracked her frame.   
  
“Shhhhh...” Sirius eased himself onto her bed and smoothed the curls from her face. “I’m right here love, it’s all right, I’m here...”  
  
Hermione’s eyes slowly fluttered open with a frown. “Sirius?” she rasped.   
  
“It was just a dream, Hermione,” he soothed. “It’s all right.”   
  
Tears sprung to her brown eyes as she let herself be pulled into his arms. “I’m sorry - ” she mumbled into his chest, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I thought you were...” She trembled and choked on a sob as she remembered the nightmare she was having. It was obviously just an amalgam of the day’s events and conversations and thoughts, but the scene was no less upsetting: a gruesomely similar playback of Ron’s death, but with Sirius in his place. The image cut through her more painfully than she ever would have expected, even now that she was awake.   
  
He held her close, stroking her back soothingly and planting little kisses against her head as her shuddering breaths evened out.   
  
At some point, the slow movement of his fingers turned from comforting to caressing, while the soft feminine hand that was curled over his shoulder slowly drifted down, fingers splayed against his chest over his heart.   
  
Hermione inhaled deeply, her face buried in the crook of his neck. The combination of Sirius’ scent and his fingers that were trailing over her thin camisole style night shirt, tracing edges of seams and brushing bare skin, worked on her like a drug. She shifted slightly, her lips skimming the flesh of his neck as she moved her head to his shoulder and sighed.   
  
Sirius closed his eyes at the feel of her breath against his skin, her hand pressed to his chest. He knew he should leave – Hermione was distraught and he was getting too easily wrapped up in the feel of her flesh under his fingers when he was supposed to be comforting her. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop just yet. When her lips accidentally grazed his neck, his cock stirred in his shorts. Gathering his resolve to make his departure before he made an arse of himself, Sirius took a deep breath and faltered at the faint but familiar scent of arousal coming from the witch in his arms.   
  
He exhaled raggedly, a hand sliding involuntarily under the soft filmy material of her shirt to stroke the smooth, bare flesh of her lower back. Her tiny gasp was imperceptible to normal ears as she moved against him in response.   
  
It was such a small, seemingly innocent gesture, yet his direct touch sent an ache through her that slid through her insides like whiskey. After facing the image of his death in her sleep, Hermione had no will whatsoever to push Sirius away. She felt helpless to him, and vaguely clingy, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her now was the warm, very much alive body of this incredible wizard who was doing interesting things to her senses with the smallest of touches.   
  
His other hand slid down her shoulder, up her crooked arm, covering her hand that still pressed over his heart. Hermione raised her head and met Sirius’ gaze, her own eyes reflecting the drugged and heavy need found there.   
  
Whatever well-intentioned, last-ditch question he had, it was lost on his lips at the blatant desire he found in Hermione’s stare. Her eyes drifted down to his mouth, her tongue darting out to wet her own lips in an unconscious invitation. He reached up and traced the side of her face with the back of his fingers, and she closed her eyes and moved into his touch with a small sigh.  
  
Sirius dipped his head to hers, slowly tasting her lips as his one hand continued up her back and under her shirt, the other one plunging into her sleep tousled curls, tilting her head up to him so that he could deepen their kiss. His tongue eased between her parted lips, curling into hers as Hermione pressed herself closer to him.   
  
He let out a low groan as her hands slid over his bare chest adoringly before cupping his neck, her fingers slowly combing his scalp as she fisted his hair. The simplest of sensations were quickly becoming almost too much for him – the whisper of bedsheets and nightclothes, the warm, true taste of her mouth tinged with the salty mint of her strange Muggle toothpaste, her hair and skin beneath his fingertips and brushing against his own exposed flesh, her own fingers and lips torturing him, and _oh, gods_, the rapidly thickening scent of her female arousal.   
  
“Hermione...” Sirius rasped, sighing at the feel of her soft cheek as he grazed over her jawline, inhaling the more innocent smells of her shampoo as he nuzzled her neck. His hand slid round to her waist and she arched slightly as his thumb swept along her ribs, barely missing the curve of her breast. She was practically in his lap, and every little movement made his cock jump against her.   
  
He drew another ragged breath, gritting his teeth, and gently pulled her arms from around his neck, sliding her off of him. His expression softened and he tenderly kissed the little furrow of concern now darkened her brows.   
  
“Lay back,” he commanded, his voice tight with restraint.   
  
She watched him curiously as she complied, leaning up on her elbows until he slid his body over hers, resting on his forearms. He smiled sexily, his grey eyes glinting darkly before raining gentle kisses on her face, tasting the salty residue as he kissed her closed eyelids, sliding his mouth back down to her ear.  
  
“Baby steps...” he whispered against the pink shell, “pleasant baby steps...” he reminded her as he slid his hand down the length of her, resting at her hip.   
  
Hermione trembled at the heated recollection of her dream several nights prior, as his thumb teased a trail over the side of her pelvis. Sirius’ hand slowly started back up her waist, slipping under the sheer fabric along the way. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back as his fingers traced loving patterns over her stomach. His mouth returned to hers as he flattened his palm against her soft skin, swallowing her soft moan when his thumb finally skimmed the underside of one silky breast.   
  
She arched against his touch, again brushing against his aching hardness, causing him to jump slightly and pause in his movements.   
  
Hermione broke away.“Sirius?” she asked softly.  
  
His eyes were closed and his expression strained. He swallowed and looked down at her, his voice thick and slightly shaky. “You feel so good, Hermione... and you - _smell..._” he swallowed again, “incredible,” he whispered. “I just...” he shook his head wordlessly.  
  
Understanding dawned on Hermione and she felt a fierce wave of heat sweep through her as she imagined what Sirius must be going through. She reached up and plunged a hand into his thick hair, kissing him deeply before urging him onto his back.   
  
“What are you - ”   
  
“Shhh...” She pressed a finger to his lips, smiling down at him now as she straddled one of his hair-roughened thighs. She pulled her long, unruly hair back from her face and leaned down, gently caressing his lips with her own, running her fingers slowly, lightly over his muscled chest. He gasped as she grazed his nipples.  
  
“I can’t – you’re killing me, woman,” he growled.  
  
Hermione just gave him a knowing smirk as she slid down his body, hooking her fingers into the elastic band of the silk boxer shorts he'd picked up earlier that day in Diagon Alley.   
  
He grabbed her wrists to stop her, and she glared up at him before a silky smile played her lips. Undeterred, Hermione dipped her head down, caressing her cheek along his hardened length through the tent of thin material before plucking the opening aside with her teeth.   
  
Sirius groaned loudly. “Don’t – I-I won’t last like this, Hermione...” he finally blurted frantically.  
  
“I _know_, dummy, now will you let me do this, please?”

Her practical tone grabbed his attention and he looked down to see her staring up at him, her eyebrows raised. Finally understanding that she was, as usual, ahead of the game, he pulled her up to him and kissed her fiercely, feeling a wave of adoration for his brilliant young witch. He let go of her wrists and smiled at the heavy lidded expression on her face when he broke the kiss.   
  
She was straddling his hips now, and felt his cock jump against her warmth through the thin material of their clothes as she leaned down and nipped his shoulder. His reactions to her filled her with a molten heat that settled moist and heavy between her thighs. Once again she slid down his body, slowly, relishing the hiss of breath that escaped him at the delicate friction of their legs brushing each other.   
  
Hermione licked her lips, then traced his nipple with her tongue, smiling against his warm chest when Sirius arched against her and threaded his fingers in her hair. She battled with the urge to tease him further, and reminded herself that his current disadvantage really was beyond unfair.   
  
Hermione took a deep breath when she reached the waistband of silk again. She looked up to see Sirius watching her. The look in his eyes startled her – the very few times she had done this with other wizards, her partners had made her feel somewhat degraded with their smug expressions. It was part of the reason she never particularly cared for the act she was about to perform and she usually viewed it as a necessary evil when she did do it; either a “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” scenario, or, as with Ron, it was an almost obligatory means of maintaining that aspect of the relationship.   
  
The grey eyes that gazed down at her now, however, were reverent, almost worshipful. Hermione bit her lip and smiled shyly up at Sirius before lowering her head. He lifted his hips as she slid the waistband down, over his muscled thighs and calves, then dropping the black silk garment to the floor. She crawled back up between his legs, fingers drifting lightly over his legs. On impulse, her lips traced a line from just above Sirius’ right knee to the inside of his thigh.   
  
The gesture elicited a heated sigh from the wizard as his head dropped back to the soft pillows. The sound caused a jolt between her own legs, urging her to continue her explorations upward. She breathed in, enjoying the pleasant, salty musky smell of him. When she reached the juncture of his thighs, the sight of his hard length made her own sex ache. Any thoughts of her past reservations for this sort of thing completely dissipated.   
  
She licked her lips almost hungrily before softly trailing kisses from the base of his cock to the tip, circling the purplish head before darting her tongue out to swipe across the tip experimentally. He tasted salty but clean, and sexy. Hermione slowly dragged her tongue again over the tip, then traced a wet circle around the head of his cock.  
  
Sirius’ sharp intake of breath was almost painful, the ragged breaths that followed sparking a note of sympathy in Hermione. She wrapped her lips around him and slowly slid down, taking him in as far as she could, before coming back to the tip, swirling her tongue wetly around the ridge.  
  
His hands grappled at the sheets, violently fisting them at his sides as his head thrashed to the side, panting unevenly. Her mouth felt like warm liquid silk on his cock, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the beautiful image of the witch it belonged to. The very thought that it was Hermione’s lips around him - those virginal lips he had secret thoughts about from the moment she entered his front hallway - nearly pushed him over the edge.   
  
As she slid back down and up again, gently sucking at him, an agonized growl ripped from his mouth. “Fuck, angel...” he rasped, wanting to tangle his hands in those crazed brown locks, but certain he’d lose the little thread of control that kept him from just fucking her mouth outright.  
  
Hermione moaned against him at the sound of his rapid undoing, the vibration from her throat tearing another growl from his lips. His groans and obscenities went straight to her core in another wave of aching heat.  
  
The heady smell of her increased arousal washed over him, driving him to the point of madness, a steady stream of harsh gasps and incoherent muttering now pouring from him feverishly.   
  
“Hermione – I can’t... dear god... angel... I...” Sirius panted.  
  
She could already taste the tang of his pre-come, and his balls tightened instantly as she reached up with her hand to caress them.  
  
It took all of a few slow, wet strokes before Sirius cried out, a hand plunging into her hair as he came in her mouth. She was surprised to find that it didn’t bother her as she swallowed his saltiness, gently laving his softening sex.   
  
Hermione rested her cheek against his thigh, listening to Sirius regain his breath as his fingers fumbled through her hair.


	16. Chapter 16

  
A warm rumble of delighted laughter caused her to straighten. Glancing cautiously up at Sirius’ face, she found him grinning happily at her as he pulled her up to him and swiftly rolled her over onto her back, gently pinning her with his hands at her waist.   
  
A tender smile still pulled at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were dark as they gazed down at her. He shook his head slightly in amazement at the beautiful witch staring back up at him.   
  
“Hermione - ” he whispered, but was stopped by the soft fingers that pressed against his lips, then drifted to his cheek, cupping his jaw tenderly.   
  
He saw the uncertainty flicker in her brown eyes and moved to quickly douse it, attacking her lips with a burst of short, fevered kisses as his thumbs drew small circles over her ribs, slowly pushing the thin fabric of her shirt up over her waist.   
  
He planted a series of gentle nips along her jaw line from her chin to her ear as his hands slid further upwards, caressing her sides. He smiled into her hair when she gasped softly as his thumb traced a feather light line along the side of her breast.  
  
“So amazing...” he whispered, trailing kisses down the side of her neck, “in every way imaginable,” he added softly, pushing the delicate blue strap over her shoulder. He traced the dip of her collarbone with his tongue, his hand continuing to lightly tease at her breast. He moaned softly at the salty sweet taste of her skin as his mouth trailed along the flimsy edge of her camisole, then veered up to her throat.   
  
Her head fell back with a sigh and her breathing quickened as Sirius nuzzled the hollow at the base of her neck before traveling slowly up the slender column back to her mouth. This time Hermione returned his kisses hungrily, biting softly at his lower lip and arching against him at the sudden sweep of his thumb over her hardened nipple.   
  
Sirius chuckled softly, pulling back to take in her heated expression.   
  
“I think you’re a bit overdressed, love,” he murmured, sliding the camisole the rest of the way up over her breasts, then pulling it over her head as she leaned up and raised her arms for him.   
  
Sirius drew in a shuddering breath as his eyes took in Hermione’s form. He slowly reached out and ran slightly trembling fingers across her shoulders, over collarbones, tracing lightly along the sides of her plump breasts, causing her to sigh and shift.   
  
His eyes flew up to her face. “You’re so soft, so perfect...” he said weakly before letting his gaze travel back down over her body.   
  
He leaned down to the gentle slope of her stomach, dragging his lips across her smooth skin and leaving gentle nips at the curve of her waist before meandering a path up the flat little plane between her two luscious mounds. Through the haze of his ardour, he noticed the rapid rise and fall of Hermione’s chest and grinned wickedly against her sternum before teasing his lips along the curve of a breast, narrowly avoiding the pert, dusky rosebud that was begging for his attention.   
  
Hermione exhaled frustratedly, her senses rapidly becoming frayed by the gorgeous dark haired wizard. Her fingers danced up his muscled arms, gripping his biceps when his mouth finally zeroed in, his tongue rasping across her sensitive nipple before his lips closed around it, suckling and teasing.   
  
Sirius moved a leg between hers, smiling as his bare thighs brushed the thin material of her pajama bottoms. He could feel her heat radiating against him as he moved to her other breast, making sure it wasn’t left out. He moaned when Hermione threaded her fingers in his hair, clutching him to her and arching her back.   
  
Hermione bit hard on her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. It was all she could do not to grind herself obscenely against his muscled thigh as he slowly teased her. Her stomach was filled with butterflies battling over nervousness and hungry excitement as his mouth and fingers did things to her senses she'd only skeptically read about in romance novels.  
  
He smoothed his hands down her sides, resting them briefly at the gentle flare of her hips, then sliding over her abdomen, finding the little satin drawstring that was tied in a bow just below her navel. His mouth never left her body as Sirius slowly slid the light fabric down Hermione’s hips. His tongue teased along the lacy edge of her knickers, his lips curving into a grin at the little mewling gasp that escaped her as his mouth brushed the topmost flesh of her exposed thighs.   
  
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the heady aroma emanating from the warmth just inches from his mouth and paused, his fingers bunching the material of those flimsy trousers as he grappled for self-restraint. Slowly he continued his task, inching his hands further down her thighs as he left moist kisses and tender lovebites in their wake, memorizing each spot that brought forth a sigh or a stifled moan.   
  
When Sirius reached Hermione’s feet, he lazily tossed the cloth of her garment to the floor. He smiled endearingly and threaded his fingers between her delicate toes, which were surprisingly painted a dark blackish red. He glanced up at her and quirked his eyebrow teasingly.  
  
“Dangerous colour for such a sweet little bookworm,” he noted, before nuzzling the arch of her foot. Hermione bit back a giggle as his coarse chin tickled her instep. The grin that escaped her failing restraint warmed Sirius greatly. His heightened senses made him well aware of the desire that was roiling beneath the surface, but he wanted all of her, wanted her full surrender. Each little involuntary response he elicited from the witch was another sure step toward his goal.  
  
He traveled his way along the inside of her legs this time, worshiping her smooth, slender calves, dipping his tongue behind a knee, and lavishing painstaking affection over the softness of her shapely thighs.   
  
As he neared her juncture, however, Sirius stopped and sat back on his heels, eyeing Hermione curiously, his lips twitching at the unexpected violet and black pattern of her high cut, lace-edged knickers.   
  
“I don’t think I shall ever be able to look at a pair of argyle socks the same way again,” he chuckled softly, sliding over her and resting on his side, his mouth inches from hers.   
  
Sirius ran a finger just inside the band of lace outlining her thigh, “I believe these are the naughtiest knickers I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, Miss Granger,” he murmured hotly against her ear.   
  
Hermione swallowed hard as Sirius’ fingers taunted her sensitive skin in much the same way she'd dreamed of just nights ago, while he nibbled at the weak spot just below her jaw line.   
  
“Sirius...” she whimpered. His fingers were so close but not nearly close enough. She squeezed her thighs together in frustration and need.  
  
“Yes love...” he whispered patiently, curling the backs of his digits under the lace, sliding along the edge toward her juncture.   
  
_So close..._ Hermione was panting now. She spread her legs to his touch, not giving a damn about her stupid knickers, even if they were her favorites. She impatiently wished he’d just tear them off of her. She nearly snarled when Sirius paused yet again, the backs of his fingers pressed against the flesh of her mound, just a breath from her soaking slit.   
  
He pulled away from her then, frowning uncertainly as his fingers fumbled against her bare mound before slipping out from the leg of her knickers. He was staring off at an unseen point, his mouth hanging slightly open as he slid his hand up over the fabric covering her and slipped inside her waistband again.  
  
Hermione’s hips undulated against his flattened palm as he spread his fingers out over her abdomen, sliding slowly downwards. “Sirius,” she moaned again.  
  
He looked at her, his face still vaguely confused as his hand slipped searchingly over her mostly bare flesh. She felt his semi-hard cock jump suddenly against her hip as he grit his teeth and swallowed before inhaling a ragged breath. His grey eyes were unfocused as he ran his palm over the outside of her smooth pussy, his finger skimming over the weeping wetness at her slit.  
  
“Dear Merlin, witch, what is this?” he rasped violently before plundering her mouth.   
  
Hermione would have laughed outright as she realized the source of Sirius’ confusion and shock, but his heated exploration had her completely on edge. One of the few positive things she'd pulled from her last failed relationship was the intimate grooming decision that had just completely flustered Sirius Black.   
  
He drew another harsh breath and gave up on patience as he scooted down her body again, slipping his hand out of the last remaining bit of clothing separating him from Hermione. She willingly raised her hips as he looped his fingers in the sides of her knickers, pulling them over her legs and discarding them in a swift movement.   
  
Sirius’ eyes widened slightly at the sight of Hermione’s pussy, completely hairless but for a narrow strip along her entrance. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, and the sight of it went straight to his cock and made his mouth water at the same time. He couldn’t help but reach his hand out and touch the silken soft flesh of her outer lips, a ragged breath escaping him.   
  
“I’ve never…” Sirius’ voice came out harsher than intended. He blinked, swallowed, then smiled almost sheepishly. “Well, I’ve never felt anything like _this_.” He bit his lip and slowly shook his head, breaking into a sinful grin. “But I could certainly get used to it.”  
  
“Sirius, please...” Hermione’s moan was impatient.  
  
“Please?” he chuckled, asking pointedly, “Please what, love?”   
  
Hermione grimaced. “Touch me,” she pleaded. His fingers were still dancing slowly over her skin in admiration, it was hardly satisfying. It wasn’t what he was doing, but what he was neglecting that was pertinent.  
  
“Really?” he teased, his hand still petting her, but intentionally avoiding the part that needed him the most. “This isn’t touching you?”  
  
The frustrated whimper that came from Hermione was almost a snarl, but softer and thick with need. “You're a tease.”  
  
“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m really not,” he disagreed, and as if demonstrating, he slipped his thumb between her folds just at the top to graze over her clit. He felt his own breath hitch at the feel of her slickness against his skin, but the distraction was only brief, as Hermione bucked against him in response.  
  
“I’m going to enjoy every inch of this luscious body,” Sirius purred, “but believe me witch, there is nothing I’ll enjoy more than hearing you scream my name.” He stroked her again and smiled wickedly at her wanton moan.  
  
“Words!” gritted Hermione. He wasn’t trying make her come, he was trying to make her lose her grip on whatever bit of sanity she had left. “Prove it!”   
  
_There’s my bossy little know-it-all_, Sirius grinned to himself, admiring the flush of ire and frustration that coloured her cheeks.

He gave an infuriating little laugh and kissed her bare mons above the narrow strip of brown curls, nowhere near helpful. He slid his hand over her sex and gently opened her up with his fingers, exposing the little pink nub that glistened with moisture. Another kiss was dropped on her bare skin, a little lower, and then another. Hermione was ready to scream in frustration.  
  
The first actual caress of his tongue to her clit was gently experimental, just to let her know he was there. She lifted her pelvis to press her cunt more firmly to him, and the sudden flood of her taste overwhelmed him. He faltered slightly as she filled his senses. Then, a little rougher than he intended, Sirius wrapped his strong arms around her thighs and plunged his tongue deeper with an ecstatic moan. Through the haze of her own senses, Hermione was vaguely reminded of that first morning she cooked for Sirius, and the erotic sounds that came from his lips as they devoured breakfast. He proceeded to ravage her thoroughly with his tongue, his lips occasionally suckling at the little bundle of nerves, pushing her in waves toward a delirious pinnacle.  
  
His name spilled over her lips repeatedly in a frantic, mindless chant, and when he gently pressed a finger into her, her accepting pussy immediately began to flutter with her orgasm.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Hermione hissed pleadingly. Sirius just smiled against her and added a finger, curling them together inside of her where he knew she needed it. A harsh gasp broke through her babble of broken murmurs and sighs, and she plunged a hand into his ebony locks, tangling her fingers as the first slow delicious wave swept through her. Her hips rocked desperately, impotently, against the grip of his arms as he rode her pleasure with his mouth and hand.  
  
When her trembling abated and she finally relaxed, Sirius slipped his fingers out of her, sucking off the sheen of her release while she watched through hooded lids. Her head dropped back to the pillow, turned on and a little shocked by the action.   
  
Only one other wizard had done this to Hermione before, and it was nothing at all like this. His movements had been mechanical and almost practiced, and it certainly didn’t seem as if he actually enjoyed the act. She suspected it was supposed to be much, much better than it had been with the American boy she had dated briefly, but never had she imagined this. What Sirius had just done to her was something akin to… art. Despite his arrogance and teasing, Hermione felt vaguely awed.  
  
Making good on his word, Sirius slowly made his way back up her body, his explorations lazy and deliberate, tasting and touching her for his own sheer enjoyment. Hermione responded languorously, still flushed with satisfaction, but feeling the now familiar hunger building in her again with every caress, nibble, and kiss administered from the gorgeous aristocrat.   
  
The firm weight of his recovered and newly hardened cock dragged along her thigh and slipped off to bob lightly against her still quivering mound.  
  
Their eyes met and then they shared a soft laugh together.  
  
“You know,” Sirius began thoughtfully, his tone wryly amused, “if this body is as new as you say,” he paused to bite back a laugh, the edges of his lips quirking, “does that make me a virgin?”  
  
Hermione snorted. “Maybe in a world where I’m the one with a wealth of positive sexual experiences.”  
  
Sirius looked at her curiously for a moment and then smiled. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that, hmmm?”   
  
He dipped his head to her breasts, thankfully less teasing this time, as his senses were fully aware of her rapidly increasing need. As he bent to take a nipple in his mouth, his cock slid down over her, tormenting them both with the little movement, so close.   
  
Hermione arched against him with a frustrated little gasp, her sex feeling swollen, almost sore with need for the part of him that was poised just - there.  
  
Sirius’ own breathing quickened as his awareness picked up the spike in her arousal. His mouth traced a quick path from her breasts up her throat, nuzzling along her jawline as he positioned himself against her heat and softness. He lifted his head, thinking he should say – something, although he didn’t know what. The look of raw hunger and need in Hermione’s brown-black eyes told him quite clearly that now was the time to shut the hell up and move.   
  
He slipped easily between her slick folds, both witch and wizard gasping as his hardness slid along her wetness, fumbling deliciously as his cock grazed across her clit, then nestled at her entrance. Sirius caught Hermione’s gaze and held it as he pressed slowly into her. He felt nearly dizzy at the physical sensation of her tight cunt slowly sheathing him, but it was his soul that was moved to near breathlessness at her parted lips, her undulating body, the slow blissful exhale that escaped her, and her eyes that slowly fluttered shut as he filled her.   
  
Sirius stayed that way for a moment, just reveling in the feeling. He dipped down and kissed Hermione slowly and deeply, his lips and tongue trying to communicate his feelings. A small growl rumbled in his throat as she ran her hands up his chest. The sudden pressure of her hands against him however, pushing him away, sent his heart into a small plummet. Sirius pulled away from her lips, worry and twisting pain at her rejection building at the sight of her tiny frown.  
  
As he lifted the weight of his body slightly, it was just enough of an opportunity to allow Hermione to roll them over in one swift movement, her knees hugged to his hips, keeping him still inside of her. The new position wrenched a guttural moan from her, nails scratching across Sirius’ chest as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back, relishing in the feeling of him filling her even more completely.   
  
“Ah fuck, Hermione,” Sirius hissed, both in ecstasy and relief. He nearly laughed but was cut off by the exquisite feel of the brunette witch rocking herself over him. He pushed up into her as they found their rhythm, Sirius whispering encouragements and caressing Hermione’s thighs, her hips and waist, squeezing her breasts and stroking her nipples as he watched her take her pleasure from him.   
  
Her movements increased in speed, a small furrow forming between her brows as her breathing quickened, desperate to reach the goal that remained just out of reach. Sirius leaned up then, one hand cradling Hermione’s back to him as the other slid down to her hip and between them.   
  
“That’s it, love… come on, baby,” he murmured against her throat as her head fell back, her long curls tickling his thighs.   
  
“Oh, Sirius,” Hermione moaned as his thumb pressed against her clit, rubbing in time with their rocking motions. Her gasps became almost hiccups as the heat and tension in her swept her away in great shuddering waves.   
  
As he felt the last of her convulsions around his still-hard cock, Sirius gently lay back, letting Hermione fall against his chest before rolling them back over. He grinned wickedly as the satisfied smile on his witch’s face flickered with surprise when he began slowly moving within her again.   
  
“Now, where was I?” Sirius smirked teasingly, tilting his hips as he drove into her tightness at a new angle. “Ah, yes…” he answered as Hermione let out a harsh gasp, “…right there. Merlin, woman, you feel so damn good.” Sirius growled as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer. He clenched his teeth with forced restraint as he slid his length out and back in again, not wanting to hurt her despite the growing desire to ravage the beautiful witch.   
  
“Sirius…” Hermione hissed in desperation, her fingernails digging into his shoulders and neck. She urged her hips against him in a silent plea.  
  
Sirius answered with an experimental thrust, a little harder, and was rewarded with a cracked cry as she threw her head back, her muscles squeezing around him aggressively.   
  
“Gods, little girl,” he rasped, “I don’t want to hurt you…”  
  
Hermione’s brown eyes flew open, flashing almost angrily. “Damn it, Sirius, just - ”  
  
She was cut off, another exquisite cry escaping her as he complied, driving into her hard and fast, pushing her quickly to the edge of yet another pinnacle, with Sirius not far behind her.   
  
In two quick movements he had her wrists pinned above her head, a feral growl escaping him. Something about the gesture sent her senses reeling, shoving her over the edge with a loud cry of his name.   
  
Remembering at the last minute, Sirius muttered a contraceptive charm as Hermione’s muscles contracted around him, pulling him past all restraint, bellowing her name in unison with her wails.  
  
Where her mouth had shattered his senses at his first climax, the warm, dark feeling of Hermione’s cunt milking his cock was devastating, beyond any pleasure he could recall. Sirius knew vaguely as it was happening that it was due in part to his heightened senses, but at the same time he'd never had the distinct feeling of coming home that he felt in the whole embrace of this witch.  
  
Hermione’s hands broke free, cupping his neck as he shuddered his release into her. She brushed the damp hair from his brow as he leaned into her, returning his feverish kisses as they both drifted down from their climaxes. 


	17. Chapter 17

  
  
_I love you_. His brain struggled vainly with the foolish thought, questioning where on earth something like that would come from so early on. He had never had such a strong emotion for a witch before. The unexpected feeling swept through Sirius, flooding his chest in an uncontainable surge, ruining any other words he might have uttered to her as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing calmed. She shifted under the partial weight of him, and he moved, slipping out of her and sliding his legs from between hers. He couldn’t say such a rash thing to her right now, he knew. So he made up for it in silent but tender caresses, covering her in worshipful kisses and nuzzles, hovering over her as he brushed the mess of brown curls from her damp forehead.   
  
Hermione, too, remained silent, her eyes soft with a fragile tenderness as Sirius gazed into them, wordlessly trying to communicate the depth of his feeling for her. As her lids grew heavy, he rolled onto his side and pulled her to him before reaching for his wand, performing a quick scourgify charm, and pulling the covers over them both. Sirius turned out the lamp and wrapped his arm possessively over Hermione, slipping the other one under to cradle her neck before falling into a deep dreamless sleep.

 

~

 

Sirius had been awake for well over an hour, perhaps two, when the brunette witch in his arms finally began stirring out of her peaceful slumber. He'd watched as the pale birth of dawn etched her features into greater detail out of the dim early morning.   
  
In less than a week his world had suddenly but pleasantly been tilted by this exceptional creature. Sirius wondered at the distinct lack of panic he felt. That he loved her was now a certainty – he’d spent the last two hours trying to reason with himself, searching for some inner switch to flip, some kind of logic that would trigger a flight response, and had come up empty handed.   
  
Sirius remembered his inability to comprehend James’ early and unflappable love for Lily Evans when he barely knew the witch and she clearly loathed him. For years his best friend had pursued the redhead, and while Lily made it hell for him, James never once faltered in his feelings for her. The pranks and schemes and highschool drama notwithstanding, his actual affection, his love for Lily, had been a calm certainty beneath the surface of everything. Sirius never really understood it until now.  
  
He couldn’t seem to muster a fight against his feelings for her, even in the face of the most glaring question - _why and how her_ \- ? This was Hermione Granger – Up until a week ago his memory of her had been of an awkward teenager who strove so hard to gain acceptance from her peers, only managing to further intimidate them with her intelligence and talent. He'd seen her as a girl interacting with Harry and the Weasley family – she always seemed to hover just outside the periphery of a circle that would never quite pull her completely in. He remembered how easily he spotted that in her when no one else seemed to notice. It was something he understood, though he never bothered to try to connect with her. He’d barely been able to be there for Harry, much less for his friends, and what business what it of his, anyway?   
  
Sirius frowned, wondering how different things might have turned out had he reached out to her as a child. Chances are his words of encouragement wouldn’t have made much difference, but it bothered him now to see how Hermione remained separated, somehow. It was obvious she still wasn’t fully aware of just how remarkable or valued she was.   
  
He recalled his conversation with his godson the previous afternoon. Harry had gone to smooth things over with Hermione after finding the two of them snogging in the backyard. When he returned downstairs, he found Sirius in the kitchen and dropped into one of the worn old wooden chairs.  
  
_“Sirius, what’s wrong with you?” he asked bluntly._  
  
_While he’d braced himself for it, he had hoped the conversation wouldn’t actually turn in that direction. _  
  
_“Harry, Hermione and I are both adults…” he began defensively._  
  
_“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Harry interrupted._  
  
_Sirius blinked in confusion. “What? Then what are you - ”_  
  
_His godson sighed. “Sirius, you’ve been back for months now, and I can count on one hand the times you’ve left the house. Ginny and I figured you were just overwhelmed and wanted to avoid the public eye, so we tried bringing the outside world in to you.” Harry mumbled with a smirk. “I’m still getting the stink eye whenever I meet George for drinks at the Three Broomsticks.” _  
  
_“Sorry, Harry,” Sirius said remorsefully. _  
  
_The familiar green eyes flicked up to his. “You’ve been right miserable this whole time, you know,” Harry said without accusation. “But then Hermione shows up, and suddenly you’re like a different person.” He shook his head. “At first I thought it was that you fancied her and you were just - depressed before then. But then I hear you didn’t even bother to replace your wand until last week when Hermione told me off for leaving you in whatever state you’re in, and you still haven’t come over to the flat or gone to see George, you’re wearing sunglasses inside, and…” he drifted off helplessly, then narrowed his eyes added in a pointed tone, “she thinks you’re mistaking gratitude for attraction, whatever that means.” _  
  
_Sirius dropped into the chair across from his godson, completely stricken. “Is that what she told you?” he asked softly._  
  
_Harry looked down at the scarred table. “Maybe not those exact words, but yeah,” he muttered. Looking back up at the grey eyes across from him, he continued, “I don’t want to get in the middle of this, Sirius, but I think you should know she’s not the most confident of witches. And you – you’ve got this reputation…”_  
  
_“Harry, I haven’t been with, much less kissed a woman in nearly a decade, and the last time I ‘played the field’ was when you were still in diapers – I was younger than you are now!” His voice was tight with frustration. Was he going to pay for a handful of promiscuous years for eternity, for Merlin’s sake? _  
  
_Harry held up his hands. “I know that, Sirius, but between your reputation and the fact that you haven’t been getting out since you came back, plus whatever it is that Hermione’s done to help you… I think she’s convinced you’re only interested because she’s right here.” _  
  
_“And you? Is that what you think as well?” _  
  
_The grin his godson gave him was a perfect replica of his best friend. “If I thought that, do you really think I’d be wasting time asking you about it before flattening you? I know you’re a bit off, Sirius, but I don’t believe you’re stupid. I don’t think you’d dare go after Hermione unless it really meant something.”_  
  
_After asking again what was wrong with Sirius, Harry eventually heard a simplified explanation of his godfather’s heightened senses (leaving out the nightmares that had terrorized him until very recently), as well as the solutions Hermione had come up with in a matter of days. _  
  
_“Well.” The younger man sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in contemplation. “I guess I can see where she’s getting her ideas now.” He gave a quick glance to Sirius. “Not that I agree with her, but she’s Hermione, Sirius – she’s using her brain.” Shrugging, he added, “I suppose you'll just have to figure out a way around that.” _  
  
_Sirius regarded Harry for a moment. “This doesn’t bother you?” he asked curiously. “You’re giving your godfather romantic advice on your best friend…” _  
  
_“You’re my family, Sirius, and you always will be.” Harry continued delicately, “But it’s been a long time since I’ve looked to you as a father figure.”_  
  
_Sirius felt his throat tighten. “Harry, I – I wanted to, very badly.” His voice was nearly a whisper. “I’m so sorry I failed you. I should have been there, and the whole time I was stuck in that damned curtain I - ”_  
  
_Bright green eyes blinked at him from behind glasses. “It’s all right, Sirius,” he said, shaking his head, “I know. It would have been… brilliant, you would have been brilliant as a father, but it just didn’t turn out that way. But maybe there’s a reason for everything, and if there is, maybe this is that reason.”_  
  
_At Sirius’ small frown he sighed. “I just want to see you happy. Hermione too. If that happens because you two get together, then great. Besides – you’re not that much older than me anymore, yeah? You’re more like my strange older brother…” Harry grinned. _  
  
_“Oi,” Sirius rumbled, returning an awkward smile. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Harry’s changed view of him, but he didn’t have time to worry over it as he heard the familiar sound of Hermione’s bedroom door closing, her tentative footfalls approaching the top of the stairs. _

_Sirius stood up from the table and clasped Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks, Harry. And now that I have sight and sound under a bit of control, I - we, won’t be such strangers, yeah?”_  
  
_They both ascended the steps to the front hallway, finding Hermione on her way down to meet them. Armed with a clearer understanding, Sirius was able to observe her behaviour toward him in a better light. At the same time, he knew he’d have to take a little more care in how he approached the situation. He wanted to shake the beautiful witch, tell her how utterly ridiculous it was to think he only wanted her because she helped him and was convenient. But, like Harry said, she was using her brain, and he had to admit that was a pretty logical conclusion to surmise, if one didn’t know any better. _  
  
Sirius and Hermione had then spent the day together at Diagon Alley. After catching her several times covertly watching him, Sirius came to the conclusion that he would either have to outwit the witch, or distract her to the point where she wouldn’t have a chance to reason her emotions out of this. Only a fool would attempt the former, so throughout the evening, Sirius had begun devising a plan to win Hermione’s heart.  
  
That had all been tossed quite happily out the window, of course, when he came to her room in the late hours of the night. Now, as he lay on his side, studying her every detail, Sirius’ only concern was how to keep her. His feelings for her raised none of the terror or sense of entrapment he’d always associated with love, but the fear that Hermione might never return the sentiment snaked around his heart, squeezing almost painfully.

Her dark brown lashes fluttered against her lower lids, a tiny crease flickering between her brows. Sirius stroked a knuckle tenderly along her temple and down her cheek, smiling slightly at the tiny movement of Hermione’s lips as she swallowed.   
  
Her eyes slowly opened and held his gaze for a long moment, her face relaxed and expressionless from sleep.  
  
“Good morning,” she finally whispered to the dark haired wizard who was smiling tenderly at her.  
  
Sirius’ lips curled into a lazy but mischievous grin. “That it is. Any morning that starts with a beautiful, intelligent, dark-haired witch in my arms is more than good.”  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows sceptically, but the sarcastic quip that was on her lips was stopped by a masculine finger.   
  
Sirius frowned. “Why do you do that?” At the tiny confused shake of her head, he continued, “You cloak it in humour, Hermione, but you… you always shoot down any mention of your beauty. Do you really believe you’re not attractive?” he asked quietly, his fingers traveling from her lips across her cheek. He cupped her chin gently, his grey eyes searching her face.  
  
Hermione felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She really did not want to have this conversation first thing in the morning, if at all. She gave a resigned sigh. “It’s not as though I think I’m a troll, Sirius, I’m just not – glamourous. I never will be. I’m not perfect or polished like the kinds of witches who will probably surround you every day once you get out of this house regularly.”   
  
Incredulity flickered across Sirius’ face. “Hermione,” he said with a chuckle, “glamour and polish are what people use to make up for their lack of real beauty.” When she rolled her eyes, he took on a sterner tone. “Would you disagree that I have the keenest eyesight of any wizard you know?”   
  
“No,” Hermione mumbled grudgingly.   
  
“So… I suppose you think that by not being surrounded by glamourous, polished witches for the last seven years, I've just developed remarkably poor judgment, then?”  
  
Despite her silence, Sirius could practically hear the witch’s response and knew by the look on her face that was exactly what she thought.  
  
“Or perhaps you think I’m just a dishonest cad who throws words of admiration around to any witch who will listen?” he pressed pointedly, although his voice was gentle.   
  
Her eyes flicked to his and she opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted again as Sirius grabbed her wrist and sat up, pulling him with her.   
  
“Come on,” he commanded, “I’m going to show you what I see.”   
  
He guided her to kneel on the bed in front of where he sat, facing an old oval, floor length mirror.   
  
“Sirius - ” Hermione protested, watching him with a pleading eye.  
  
“Shh,” he answered, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders as he climbed to his knees behind her, the mattress dipping sharply under his weight.   
  
He slid his hands reverently down her bare back, around to her sides, and over her waist, resting them at her hips. “You have the body of a goddess, Hermione.” He nodded to the mirror. “Look.”  
  
She flicked a glance at the mirror then away, blushing uncomfortably.  
  
Sirius chuckled. “And you’re so lovely when your cheeks turn pink, from any number of causes.”   
  
He slid his hands around to her stomach while planting kisses across the top of her shoulder, nuzzling into her neck. “Watch me, Hermione,” he whispered. “Look at us…”   
  
Her breathing had already grown quicker as she tilted her head, giving Sirius better access to her neck. Through heavy lidded eyes she looked at the reflection in the mirror, focusing on the wizard behind her, standing on his knees, his naked body barely touching hers. His silky black shoulder-length waves commingled with her own untamed cloud of chestnut curls. The stubble on the unshaven part of his jaw rasped gently along her sensitive skin, while his hands slowly but firmly caressed her hips and stomach, creeping up her body to the softness just below her breasts. His granite coloured eyes watched her from behind the fringe of indecent black lashes.   
  
“Do you know what just the feel of your skin beneath my fingers does to me, little girl?” Sirius murmured roughly, his hands teasing her again as they hungrily traveled over her flesh. He sighed against her neck and mumbled, “satin… fucking satin…”   
  
As the heavy heat began building in her again, Hermione wondered with a hint of frustration how he could have such an effect on her by doing so little. However, his body brushed against her then, the hardness bobbing against her backside informing her that she wasn’t alone. She caught his knowing glance then, her breath hitching as his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs stroking over the silky flesh and teasing across her hardened nipples. 

“And these-” Sirius grinned wickedly, “-are beyond perfect. Every curve, Hermione…” He broke off with a sigh. “It’s as if you were sculpted by the gods.”   
  
He let one hand travel over those curves demonstratively while the other remained to fondle her breasts. “You’re soft and hard in all the right places,” he murmured, his touch traveling around her hip, over the curve of her backside, and down the back of her thigh.   
  
Hermione closed her eyes with a soft moan, her head falling against his shoulder as his hand slipped around her front and closer to her already wet pussy.   
  
“The one thing I shall miss if these senses ever return completely to normal,” he whispered roughly in her ear as he slid his palm over the outside of her heat, “Is your scent.”  
  
He drew in a ragged breath, dipping a finger between her folds. “And your taste,” he added, bringing the wet digit up to his lips with a moan. “It’s all you, love, and so fucking beautiful.”   
  
Hermione had opened her eyes again and was watching him in the mirror intently, a look of hunger and awe on her face. He was pressed intimately against her now, one hand still gently kneading her breasts and teasing her nipples as the other slid back down to her core. His hardness jutted insistently against her, but Sirius’ only focus was his hands on her body.   
  
He slipped his hand between her thighs. Pressing against the soft flesh with a gentle nudge, he murmured, “Open for me, love.” She complied and inhaled sharply as he slid two fingers between her folds and across her swollen clit.  
  
“So fucking hot and wet, Hermione. You’re so bloody gorgeous like this – don’t you see it?” His gaze was penetrating even as his fingers worked distractingly over her.   
  
“Don’t close your eyes, love,” he warned, “I want you to watch while I make you come.” His fingers proceeded to skim over her nub, eliciting a gasp, and he responded with a murmur of encouragement.   
  
Hermione’s bashfulness quickly dissipated and was replaced by a growing heat brought on by Sirius’ attentions. She moaned, but was unable to tear her eyes away from the erotic sight as he slowly pushed one, then two fingers into her, his thumb pressing against her clit, disappearing between the folds of slick flesh. He curled his fingers against her inner wall and started slowly sliding in and out.  
  
Hermione reached up and curled an arm around Sirius’ neck to help support her now quivering thighs, and she bit her lip hard at the tension that was increasing in her abdomen. Sirius noticed and whispered, “Don’t hold back, love. I love every little whimper and cry, love the sound of my name as I’m fucking you.” His fingers drove deeper, harder, forcing her lip free from her teeth with a harsh gasp, followed by a keening moan as the first wave grew and broke in her.   
  
“That’s it, angel.” Sirius kissed her shoulders and neck, still pumping his fingers, his thumb working her clit as she convulsed around him. Her body was wracked with violent shudders and still he held her close, keeping her upright. “Look at how beautiful you are when you’re coming, the gorgeous flush across these perfect breasts.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t look, as her head was thrown back in an ecstatic groan. Sirius pushed past her first orgasm, still lightly stroking her.  
  
“Look, Hermione,” he insisted, his free hand reaching up and tangling in her hair, forcing her to face the mirror before them. “Don't you see it?”  
  
The figures in the mirror were like something from a fine work of erotic art, and in that instant, Hermione realized she almost didn’t recognize the woman in the arms of this gorgeous wizard, and that said woman was, indeed, very beautiful. Her cheeks and chest were flushed with the pink of orgasm, her brown hair a wild cloud of bedroom curls. Her whole body fit perfectly against the backdrop of the stunning dark-haired male who still had his fingers plunged inside of her, and her large brown eyes were half-lidded and filled with desire.  
  
Sirius smirked, his gaze dark at her silence. He gave her clit a squeeze and repeated, “Do you?”  
  
Hermione gasped sharply and breathed, “Yes!” Her cheeks flushed at the admission.  
  
Sirius chuckled and turned her head to face him, kissing her deeply. “Never be embarrassed of your own beauty, my love,” he whispered.   
  
She gave a soft protest as he slipped his fingers out of her, licking them thoroughly before shifting his position slightly. Her eyes widened in understanding and anticipation as he positioned himself outside of her cunt, then lowered her onto him. He slowly made love to her there in front of the tall oval mirror, holding her body to his and caressing her to another orgasm before pulling her back into the bed and taking her for himself.


	18. Chapter 18

  
They lay in silence, limbs tangled and bed sheets a hopeless mess. Sirius stroked his fingers contentedly over her body while Hermione worried at her bottom lip.   
  
_We have to talk. Say something! What am I supposed to say? Oh Merlin, what have I done?_  
  
Before she could summon the nerve, however, Sirius’ deep voice rumbled under her head that was resting against his chest.  
  
“Hermione, love…”  
  
_Here we go_, she thought with dread, bracing herself for whatever kind of speech he was about to give, she didn’t know for certain.   
  
He gently eased her off of him and sat up, facing her. A small smile touched the corners of his lips but his expression was otherwise unreadable.  
  
“Sirius…” Hermione began, but was cut off.  
  
“I know - ” He sighed with a warm smile. “I know you’ll be leaving for Hogwarts in just a few weeks.”   
  
He took her hand in his. “It's unfair of me to ask anything of you beyond that, but in the meantime,” his expression grew serious, his eyes darkening, “be mine.”  
  
‘Be mine’? Hermione thought, her eyebrows shooting upwards at the old fashioned sounding phrase.   
  
“Look,” Sirius continued, “one thing I’ve learned is that we never know what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, much less five days… or weeks.” He shrugged. “You’ll have an entire month after you go back to fuss and prepare before the kids’ arrival – until then, perhaps you could actually take a break, relax, make love to a devastatingly handsome wizard, be his witch… There’s no reason not to enjoy being with each other for the time that we have, yeah?”   
  
His thumb tenderly stroked the tops of her knuckles as he bit back other more premature words. His nerves tightened momentarily as Hermione merely blinked in response, a small perplexed frown in her eyes.   
  
_We never know what’s going to happen in the next five seconds…_ The words pushed insistently through the insecurities that were telling her this was nothing but a nice shag to him. Hermione thought of Ron and Susan, of Remus and Tonks, of how much time was wasted before it was too late for them.  
  
Sirius swallowed with a sheepish half-smile. “Or not…”   
  
Hermione felt him loosen his hold on her hand, and she squeezed it. “No!” she nearly blurted. “I mean… okay,” she smiled, blushing.  
  
“Okay?” Sirius repeated hesitantly.  
  
Her smile widened as she nodded. “Okay. Yes. But I do have to plan my lessons now, before I go back.” Hermione shook her head and explained, “It’s a whole new course so I have no guidelines to follow.”  
  
He studied her and frowned. “I’ll give you two hours a day.”  
  
“You’ll ‘give me’ two hours a day?” Hermione repeated incredulously. At the sight of his determined smirk, she grimaced. “But I need at least six!”  
  
“You do not,” he gently chided, “In fact I’d bet galleons you’re already on your second draft of lesson plans.”  
  
She pressed her lips together, blushing slightly because she was actually on her third draft. “Four hours, then."  
  
“Three,” Sirius answered with an infuriating grin.  
  
“Fine,” Hermione grumbled. Her scowl was quickly wiped away by the warmth of Sirius’ mouth as he tackled her, rolling her over on top of him with a victorious chuckle.


	19. Chapter 19

The morning had arrived. Hermione had done most of her packing over the last week, leaving only her immediate essentials to stow in the final trunk headed for Hogwarts.  
  
Sirius woke her up with close-pressed caresses and nuzzles that led to the first of many rounds of lovemaking that day; slow and deliberate, as well as hard and desperate. Very few words passed between the two until the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed its warning. Hermione had one hour left before she was expected at the first faculty meeting of the year.   
  
She ascended the stairs of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, for the last time that summer. With every footstep, every motion of preparing to leave for her new life, she felt her insides shutting down piece by piece. Soon she would just be Hermione the Bookworm again, or, to her students, Professor Granger. A mere handful of weeks ago that idea filled her with excitement. Now, she only felt like grieving.   
  
In theory he would only be a handful of floo powder away, but Hermione had braced herself for this from the start. Sirius had asked her to be his, just for these few weeks until she had to leave. And she was. Only, silly girl – she had given herself to him in ways she couldn’t take back. But, she knew what she was getting into from the start, and beneath the hurt and sadness, she couldn’t muster a regret.   
  
In such a short window of time Sirius had given her more than she'd ever received from any past boyfriends or affairs. And, as much as she might wish things differently, the fact of the matter was that she had to let him go. He deserved and needed a chance to live in the sun, to carouse and womanize and do whatever it is that Sirius Black did. Hermione was just grateful she’d be cloistered away at Hogwarts and unable to bear witness to his taste of freedom.   
  
“Can I help you with anything?” he asked gently from her doorway.

Hermione swallowed back the tightness that was growing in her throat as she stuck the last calculated hairpin in the curls that were now wound into a bun on the back of her head. She glanced at Sirius’ reflection behind her in the mirror and caught his eyes, silver and sad now.   
  
She forced a smile and looked down, fussing with her robes. “Just that last bit,” she answered without looking, and motioned to the trunk that was drifting on its own toward the staircase to be floo’ed through the parlour fireplace.   
  
Sirius just nodded, and they both stood in silence for a painful moment. Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself and turned around to face him.  
  
“Well? How do I look?” She gave a sarcastic flourish to show off her prim Hogwarts teaching robes. They felt stifling and sexless after a summer of shorts and tank tops.   
  
“Beautiful,” Sirius replied huskily, his grey eyes sincere.   
  
Hermione’s fake smile faltered, her lips twitching downwards. She turned away from him, struggling with the rather embarrassing urge to cry. _Tears? Really, Hermione. Get a grip,_ she mentally chided herself. Her composure crumbled when she felt Sirius’ familiar strong hands grip her shoulders and turn her around, pulling her to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly for several warm moments, then pulled away to look down into her face, planting little kisses on her moist eyelids, cheeks, and lips.   
  
“I’ll be right here,” Sirius murmured. “Just a floo away. And there are weekends and holidays – this is nothing, really, love.”   
  
Hermione stiffened, then pulled away wordlessly. With a small frown and a little shake of her head, she began, “Sirius, I don’t know…”  
  
At those opening words, Sirius felt as though a tiny hole had torn open inside of him, draining the pleasant warmth he felt knowing Hermione was struggling with her departure from him. In its place came a seeping cool dread. He remained silent, watching and waiting for her to continue.  
  
Hermione chewed her lip and swallowed hard before looking up at him. She took another deep breath. “I – I think you need to try seeing other people, Sirius.”   
  
His eyes narrowed slightly. “_I_ need to see other people, or _we_ need to?” he asked coolly.    
  
Hermione blinked. “I’m not - ” her mouth worked wordlessly for a moment. The thought crossed her mind to tell him ‘we,’ because perhaps he’d be less likely to argue the point if he thought she wanted to see other wizards. But looking at Sirius standing before her, his hands now in the pockets of his blue jeans, his slate coloured eyes watching her expectantly from under a black fringe across his brow, she could almost see the betrayal and anger swelling in him. No, she couldn’t lie to him.  
  
“You,” Hermione answered. “Just you.” She shook her head and looked anywhere but directly at him. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to come visit, and in the meantime, it’s no good for you to stay cooped up here alone without companionship. You’ve actually been sleeping peacefully for weeks now so we know your nightmares have to do with being alone. There are a ton of witches out there, Sirius, and - ”  
  
“Ans none of them are you,” Sirius interrupted heatedly. His tone was incredulous. “How can you even suggest this?” He grabbed her arms. “I thought we were clear on this - _you’re_ the witch I want, Hermione…”  
  
“How can you be sure, Sirius?” she retorted. “You have absolutely no comparison to go by. I won’t lie to you – I have… feelings for you. And it’s hardly fair to ask me to just accept on blind faith that anything you feel in return is genuine when there’s no guarantee that you’re not just wrapped up in – in the newness of being with a woman again. And knowing that, how can I not doubt you?”  
  
Sirius’ face was a mask of anger and shock. “So what – you want me to go out and shag a bunch of witches to prove my love for you, is that it?”  
  
The words fell like a Silencing spell between them.   
  
_Love_? Hermione thought, her heart pounding.   
  
_Fuck_, Sirius thought, _way to stick your foot in it, Padfoot_.  
  
Just then the clock in the hallway struck it’s three-quarter hour chime, cracking open the thinly frozen moment.   
  
Hermione shook her head as if clearing it. “I have to go…” she mumbled, running out of the bedroom and down the stairs.   
  
She'd just reached the fireplace in the parlour and grabbed a handful of floo powder when Sirius grabbed her wrist.   
  
“Don’t do this, Hermione – not like this,” he growled.   
  
“I have to go,” she repeated, her eyes clenched shut.  
  
“Hermione…”  
  
“Let me go, Sirius!” she demanded, jerking her hand from his clasp. She refused to look at him, but threw the powder into the fireplace and allowed the brilliant green flames to envelope her as she called out her destination.

~oOo~

“Still not over your little lovers’ quarrel?” a bored voice taunted from the shadows. Phineas Nigellus sneered from his vantage point in a very old portrait hung in the corner of the parlour. The original occupant had long since dozed off in another painting in the hallway, leaving the great, great grandfather of Sirius Black to lounge arrogantly in his place.   
  
“Fuck off,” Sirius muttered half-heartedly, a hint of a slur to his consonants. He had nearly reached the bottom of a bottle of aged Kentucky bourbon Hermione had given him weeks ago. It was a going away gift from one of her American friends and she had no taste for it. Sirius found its effects far more useful and dulling than Firewhiskey, and the little know-it-all had explained to him that Firewhiskey had originally been a soldier’s drink, given to troupes because it lowered their fears and inhibitions, but the “fire” part roused the emotions or ‘inner fire.’   
  
He gave a sickly sigh. Why did everything have to remind him of her?   
  
Harry had offered to talk to Hermione on his behalf, but Sirius wouldn’t have it. His plans had failed and only managed to create a raw gaping wound in his heart. He clearly hadn’t managed to win the witch over enough to make a difference before she left for Hogwarts. In fact, at the mere suggestion of ‘love’ she had fled, refusing to even look at him.   
  
Sirius threw back the remains of his tumbler and dragged himself up to the fourth floor, nausea roiling in his gut for another night he had to face alone. The nightmares were back tenfold, complete with images of the object of his affection, torturing, being tortured, unforgiving, taunting.   
  
He stopped by the library for something to read, anything to put off sleep a little longer. 

  
~oOo~

  
It was nearly three in the morning and Hermione had just started to drop off into another night of fitful slumber, when the sound of someone rapping on her door made her bolt upright.   
  
“Professor Granger?” came the familiar but urgent voice of Headmistress McGonagall.   
  
Hermione quickly threw on her night robe and opened the door.   
  
“Quickly, Hermione – you must return to Grimmauld Place.” Minerva’s voice was soft but insistent.  
  
Alarm washed over Hermione as she grabbed her wand. _Sirius_, she thought, and made to put on her regular clothes.  
  
“No time! You must go now,” McGonagall insisted, hurrying Hermione to the small fireplace in her room.   
  
Without questioning, the younger witch grabbed a handful of floo powder from the small white bowl on the mantle, and vanished in a whirl of green flames.   
  
When she stepped out of the fireplace into the darkened parlour, the sound that met her ears turned her blood to icewater. She wasn’t even certain it was a human sound until a voice came from the painting nearest to the fireplace. “The fourth floor, girl,” he urged.  
  
Hermione bolted up the stairs, heedless of her loud footfalls. She threw open the bedroom door in a panic, her wand illuminating the room before her, and rushed to the figure writhing in the bed.   
  
“Sirius,” she began, then gasped at the violent reaction her voice had on him – Sirius’ entire body jolted as if in terror, and then scurried across the bed far from the source. Hermione felt her heart crack. What had happened in the couple of weeks she’d been gone?   
  
A tight grimace pulled at the handsome wizard’s countenance, distorting his face into an expression of terror and pain. His lips were bloodless pale, and the veins in his neck and temples were sticking out from the intensity of stress that racked his body.   
  
“No…” a deep snarl came from his lips, “not that. Not her.”   
  
Hermione swallowed back the panic that was quickly building into hysteria. She gently reached her hand out to stroke Sirius’ tortured face, finding it ice cold. “It’s me, love, I promise. I’m here…”  
  
The muscles in his face and neck relaxed for but a second, then another growl escaped him and he roughly batted her hand away, backing up to the head of the bed and sitting upright. Sirius curled his knees to his chest and his eyes flickered open, narrowly assessing her through the black fringe of lashes.   
  
The cold and unbalanced wheeze of laughter that choked out of the wizard doused the flicker of hope Hermione had. Silver glinted at her unseeingly. His mouth curled into a hateful sneer. “Stop it. You. Are not. Her,” he insisted.   
  
Hermione watched in horror as Sirius’ hollowed features worked themselves into a menacing grin. His shoulders shook silently until he hacked a cough and then called out to his unseen tormentors, “You’re supposed to use my _loved ones_ against, me you foul fuckers, get it right!”   
  
She reeled back slightly, feeling very much as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Fighting back the lurch of nausea at his hurtful words, Hermione instead focused it into determination.   
  
“Stop it, Sirius,” Hermione spoke clearly, unable to keep the note of anger out of her voice. “It’s not real. Just come back…”  
  
His answer was another wave of laughter as he wrapped his arms around himself and swayed slightly.   
  
“Damnit, Sirius!” she gritted out. She reached for his shoulders but was again deflected as he violently wrenched himself away from her.   
  
Hermione felt her throat tighten in fear, tears threatening the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t think straight enough to logic a solution for this – why wasn’t anything working?   
  
Another jolt of tension seized Sirius’ body, and Hermione was reminded of the Crutiatus curse. He gave a struggled gasp and she realized with terror that whatever was happening to him, he could barely breathe. She lunged at him, summoning a strength she didn’t realize she possessed, and forced Sirius to lay back, tilting his head back over the cradle of her arm.   
  
“Come on, Sirius, don’t do this – you’re stronger than this,” she muttered, casting a respiratory charm over him, to no avail. She could tell it wasn’t a physical breakdown causing this, but a deep psychological unwillingness to let his lungs function properly.  
  
“Fight it, Sirius! Breathe, damn it - Don’t you leave me here!” Hermione sobbed frantically, feeling herself losing the battle against her own hysterics.  
  
“A suggestion…” a cool voice called from over her shoulder.  
  
She turned with a startled gasp to the painting over the mantle of the bedroom fireplace. Usually a blank landscape of swaying trees and a quietly ripping lake, it now housed the old headmaster Hermione had once blindfolded and kidnapped when she was on the run with Harry and Ron.   
  
“The images he struggles with are already facades of those closest to him, girl. Perhaps he needs to hear the truth.” The emphasis he placed on the last word brought a confused frown to Hermione’s face.   
  
Phineas Nigellus sighed in exasperation. “Tell him how you feel, child.” He smirked and rolled his eyes in distaste at having to discuss matters of the heart with anyone, much less the impertinent young witch who once bested him.   
  
A wheezing gasp from the wizard on the bed drew Hermione’s attention again.   
  
“Sirius,” she whispered, tenderly stroking his face despite his struggles. She took a calming breath and started again, her voice soft but clear, “Sirius, listen to me. Whatever you’re fighting – it’s not real. I’m real, though. And I’m right here.”  
  
Sirius shook his head with a strangled snarl, his teeth clenched, his black hair soaked with sweat.   
  
Hermione cringed and struggled for calmness. She dropped her free hand down to where his were balled into fists at his side, and coaxed her fingers into his. “This. This is real, Sirius. Please believe me. I – I’m sorry I left you.” She sniffled pathetically as the truth came tumbling out in desperate gasps, “I don’t even care if you were mistaking gratitude for…” she shook her head. “Just, please don’t leave me like this. You have to come back. I – I love you, Sirius,” she whispered.   
  
She felt his hand relax ever so slightly and it encouraged her to continue. “Can you hear me now? I love you,” she spoke softly but intently, her confidence growing as she noticed the small gasps of air that were increasing in frequency in Sirius.   
  
“And people don’t torture those they truly love, so – so whatever you’ve been seeing, it wasn’t me. _This_ is me, Sirius, I’m Hermione, and I love you and I need you so you can’t leave, do you understand?” She swiped her wet face against her shoulder angrily. “You have fought this for so long, and if you give up now, so help me Merlin I will find a way to hunt your pathetic arse down. Do you understand me, Sirius? You need to wake up now, damn it!”   
  
“Bossy,” the weakly indignant rasp that came from his lips startled Hermione.   
  
“Sirius?” Her eyes scanned his face, now bearing a tired grimace. Her heart thudded with hope as she watched him slowly lick his lips. When his eyes opened again into two narrow slits, they bore exhaustion but also clear recognition.   
  
“Hermione,” he answered in a hoarse whisper, his throat raw from strain.   
  
Hermione took a great shuddering breath and threw herself over him.   
  
“Oh dear Merlin thank gods,” she mumbled into his neck, tears springing to her eyes again when she felt his arms slowly encircle her.   
  
Sirius gave a heavy sigh of relief, running his hands through the mass of brown curls and down her arms and back.  
  
She raised her head to look at him again, a sob gasping from her. “I thought I’d lost you,” she choked.  
  
“So did I, love,” Sirius replied quietly, brushing her moist cheeks with his thumb. “I’m still not completely certain I’m not hallucinating you,” he admitted with a weak chuckle.   
  
Hermione traced her own fingers lightly over his face, noting the shadows under his eyes. He looked slightly thinner, and had several days’ beard stubble on his neck and jaw.   
  
“Why you didn’t tell me?” She frowned. “When did this start again?”  
  
Sirius’ lips quirked tiredly. “Definitely not hallucinating then,” he rasped with a wry smile. He closed his eyes at her tender touch and inhaled the scent of her, feeling the tension draining from him. “Talk later, love,” he mumbled, pulling Hermione close to him. The peace that washed over him from her presence was too calming to resist.   
  
Sirius was already slipping into a relaxed slumber by the time Hermione pulled the covers over them and doused the lights.


	20. Chapter 20

  
  
Hermione was awakened by a presence at Sirius’ bedside. She opened her eyes to the sight of a silvery translucent cat, staring patiently at her. After giving Hermione a chance to blink a few times, the voice of Minerva McGonagall spoke in a hushed tone. “Professor Granger, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore requests your presence at your earliest convenience.” The cat then vanished in a whiff of silver light.  
  
She turned as gently as possible so as not to awaken the dark haired wizard whose arm was cradling her neck. Thankfully, he didn’t stir. Her eyes lingered on Sirius’ sleeping form before she kissed him tenderly. Then, slipping quietly from his bed, Hermione silently crept downstairs to the parlour, grabbed a handful of floo powder, and stepped into the large fireplace.  
  
When she stepped out of the smaller fireplace of her private quarters, Hermione was startled to find the Hogwarts headmistress anxiously waiting for her, still in her nightdress and robe, her silver hair in a long plait draped over her shoulder.   
  
“Oh, thank heavens,” Minerva exclaimed with a quiet urgency. “Is he all right?”   
  
Hermione gave a weary nod. “Yes, Professor, for now.”  
  
“I’m sorry dear, but Albus’ portrait wishes to see you immediately.” Minerva motioned for Hermione to accompany her as she opened the door of her suite, not giving her a chance to even change into day robes.  
  
They hurried along the corridors, past the old stone gargoyle, and up the spiral stairs to the familiar office of McGonagall and her predecessors. Upon opening the old wooden door, they were immediately greeted by the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
“Ah! Good morning Headmistress, Professor Granger.” he nodded to each of them, giving Hermione a warm but wry smile over the top of his half-moon spectacles.  
  
Hermione felt a pang – the last time she'd heard her old headmaster’s voice and seen his sharp blue gaze, was after the final battle, as Harry mended his own wand with the legendary Elder Wand. What was she to call him now – ‘Headmaster’? ‘Professor’? She didn’t think she could ever call him ‘Albus’… Finally Hermione just settled with a quiet “Good morning” in return. It was impossible not to feel like a child again in his presence, especially being called in now with such urgency.   
  
“Minerva, if you would be so kind as to check on our Mister Black please, I’d like to have a few words with your newest professor, if I may.”  
  
“Of course,” Minerva replied softly, leaving the office with a quiet click of the large old door.  
  
“Have a seat, Professor Granger.” Dumbledore motioned to a large wingbacked chair upholstered in red and gold. “I am afraid Minerva doesn’t share my penchant for sweets, however I believe you’ll find a tin of cherry cordials on the side table there, if you’d like.”   
  
“Oh, uhm, no thank you.” Hermione smiled politely. “It’s still a bit early…”  
  
“Of course.” Dumbledore quirked a smile. “Well then, do you know why I’ve asked you here?”  
  
“Not exactly, sir, although I assume it has to do with Sirius,” she answered, nerves beginning to gnaw at her for no understandable reason.  
  
His blue eyes peered down at her through his glasses. He frowned curiously. “Did Sirius not explain to you the nature of his nightmares?”   
  
Hermione swallowed and nodded. “They’re not technically nightmares, but an imprint left by the dementors…”  
  
“Then why, dear girl, did you not inform Headmistress McGonagall of your relationship with him?”   
  
Hermione blinked in confusion. What business was it of theirs that she’d been with Sirius? She struggled to keep the indignant tone out of her reply. “I didn’t think it was relevant to my position at Hogwarts, sir. It’s not as if we are married or - ” she felt her stomach twist unhappily, “committed to each other…”  
  
“But it is my understanding that when you were with him, the nightmares diminished significantly – is that correct?” Dumbledore asked pointedly.  
  
A deep flush coloured Hermione’s cheeks and she squared her shoulders defensively. “Sirius Black can have any witch he wants, and I made it perfectly clear when I left that he was under no obligation to me. There is no need whatsoever for him to be alone in my absence.”

Dumbledore held up a hand in appeasement. “Miss Granger,” he began delicately, “I understand this topic of conversation may seem somewhat inappropriate. But if you’ll allow me to explain what Sirius has evidently failed to mention, perhaps you’ll appreciate the gravity of the situation.”   
  
He frowned, a distant look of remorse in his eyes. “I’m afraid my own carelessness contributed to too much of Sirius’ suffering in the past, so I hope you’ll forgive me if my concern seems intrusive. I rather feel I owe it to him to prevent yet another oversight at his expense.”  
  
Before Hermione could open her mouth to ask what he meant, the old wizard turned his gaze to her again. “How much do you know of the dementors’ magic?” he asked.  
  
“There isn’t much to be found of them in even the darker texts,” she answered, loathe to admit she knew very little about something so powerful. “‘Very ancient and very dark magic’ is what Sirius told me, and he explained about the imprint, the effects on the subconscious mind. But beyond that…” Hermione shook her head.  
  
“Very ancient, and very dark, indeed,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “Darker than any magic ever used by a human witch or wizard. Ever,” he emphasized, looking meaningfully at her over the tops of his glasses.   
  
Settling back in his chair, Dumbledore continued, “Of course, it is only so because it is in their nature – dementors are creatures of pure darkness. Tom Riddle had to mutilate his very soul to achieve the level of dark power he had. But, for every dark magic, there is always its stronger counterpart in lightness. Do you recall the magic that protected Harry from Voldemort’s attack?”   
  
_Love_, thought Hermione. But a sacrifice of love…  
  
As if in answer to her thoughts, Dumbledore explained, “Just as there are different kinds of love, Miss Granger, there are different kinds of darkness. Riddle’s power was borne from murder, death, the stealing of life... The opposite of which is life-giving love, that of a mother protecting her child, or a warrior sacrificing his life for the rest of the wizarding world.   
  
“The dementors’ power is in the destruction and theft of the soul. It is why the Patronus charm, borne of happiness, is its only deterrent.”  
  
“But an indelible imprint on the subconscious…” Hermione shook her head. Sirius himself had said there was no counter-spell for it, no cure.   
  
She looked up at Dumbledore’s portrait, and he continued for her, “…can only be touched, weakened, by a deeper force, a soul-deep level of joy that can only come from - ”   
  
“Love,” She finished softly, remembering what was finally able to pull Sirius from the grips of his terror just hours prior.   
  
“Not just any kind of love.” Dumbledore gave her a gentle smile, reminding her more of a grandfather than her former headmaster. “Or we could deduce that Harry, or, when they were still with us, Remus or even Sirius’ younger cousin Nymphadora would have had the ability to ease Sirius’ suffering.”  
  
_No_, Hermione shook her head miserably in silent agreement, _not just any kind of love, but the love of a heartsick fool_. It made perfect sense to her now. The kind of elation required to summon a full-bodied Patronus had to be pure and strong, stronger than the feeling of getting the highest marks in your year, or finding out you’re a witch. And if that was what it took to defend oneself against a dementor’s physical presence, then the kind of magic required to fight their dark mark on a human’s psyche would have to be stronger than that in lightness. Love. But the kind of love that made a person dizzy with need and fulfillment at the same time, the kind of love that Muggles wrote sappy songs and romantic comedy films about.   
  
“True love,” Dumbledore said softly. “You do love him, do you not, Hermione?”  
  
With a heavy sigh, she nodded her head, her eyes stinging. “Yes,” she whispered, almost shamefully.  
  
“Then why on earth didn’t you tell Minerva?” he asked again. “Arrangements could have been made…”  
  
Hermione looked up at the portrait of Dumbledore with a hint of annoyance. “Because he doesn’t love _me_,” she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m the first and only witch he’s spent any time with after being exiled for seven years. He deserves more than that. Sirius hasn’t had a chance to even figure out what he - ”  
  
“True love, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore repeated sternly, before his eyes softened sympathetically. “Not just some crush or infatuation. True love is never one-sided. Wouldn’t you agree, Mister Black?” His eyes traveled to the door behind Hermione, now open and framing the dark haired wizard in question.   
  
Hermione leapt up and whirled around to find Sirius staring at her, his eyes shining with an expression she had seen on his face before, but in fleeting glimpses. “Yes, I do agree,” he whispered before striding over to her.  
  
He took both her hands in his and kissed her knuckles tenderly before shaking his head slightly with a smile. “Hermione Jean Granger,” he said in a tone of soft admonishment, “I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment you came barreling at me that night in my front hallway.”  
  
When Hermione opened her mouth to protest, he stopped her, touching his fingers lightly against her lips.  
  
“I _am_ grateful, love – so very grateful.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “For everything you’ve done for me. But I doubt I would have given you half a chance to help me in the first place had I not already been falling for you.” He shrugged and pulled back with a sheepish grin. “I suppose I might still be bitterly skulking in the shadows otherwise.”  
  
Hermione looked up at him with a small concerned frown. “You knew about this – about why the nightmares were fading?”  
  
Sirius nodded. “Dumbledore told me, long ago, when I was stuck at Grimmauld Place. I’m afraid it served as little more than something else to brood over.”  
  
“If you had just told me…” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered to me whether or not you felt the same way, I would have stayed, or found some way… Sirius, I’ve never seen it as bad as it was this morning. You weren’t breathing.” Hermione’s voice grew tight with the panicked memory. “You could have died if – if someone hadn’t come.”   
  
Her frown deepened and she turned questioningly to the portrait of Dumbledore but was interrupted by the arrogant, somewhat nasally voice from another portrait.   
  
“I’ve already born witness to the royal family line dying off once, child, it is in my own personal interest to see that it doesn’t happen again.” Phineas Nigellus smirked dispassionately. “Even if the last remaining heir is a lazy, spoiled, worthless excuse of a wizard.”  
  
“Thanks.” Sirius smirked and tipped his head at his great, great grandfather’s portrait before turning back to Hermione.   
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, love,” he said, tenderly stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I thought - ” Sirius glanced at Dumbledore’s portrait and back to her. “I thought the nightmares were fading, only because of my feelings for you. I thought, if I told you what it meant, you would either run away scared, or you’d stay out of pity.”  
  
Hermione gave a wry chuckle. “We’re pathetic. You thought I’d stay out of pity, and I thought you were just confusing gratitude for something more…” She shook her head again.  
  
Sirius raised an eyebrow and tilted his head questioningly. “Does that mean you no longer believe that? You’re ready to accept that I love you?”  
  
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked and looked at Sirius. “I don’t know,” she answered softly, “you still haven’t even said it to me yet.”  
  
Sirius cupped her chin with his large hand, fingers callused from the weeks he'd spent making up for lost time, working on his motorcycle, helping Harry with his new home and also making repairs to Grimmauld Place. His other hand found hers and placed it against his chest, where she could almost feel his heart beating beneath the thin material of the tee shirt he had thrown on before floo’ing over with Minerva.   
  
“Hermione Granger,” he spoke softly but clearly, “I love you. With every fiber of my being, and every beat of my heart.” His storm grey eyes drifted adoringly over her face, “You are my light,” he added in a whisper.  
  
Hermione felt as though her heart would burst. She didn’t bother to fight back the tears that now welled in her large brown eyes. “Oh, Sirius,” she whispered hopelessly with a small shake of her head, “I love you too.”   
  
There were no more poetic words to add, as they were all smothered in the crush of his warm lips against hers, the stubble of his unshaven chin scratching against hers, his arms winding tightly around her frame and hands plunging into her unkempt curls as he deepened their kiss.   
  
A soft clearing of a throat at the doorway drew them slowly apart.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt.” Minerva McGonagall raised an eyebrow at them. “But I do have a meeting here in fifteen minutes, and Professor Granger will be expected at this morning’s faculty brunch. Sirius, you are more than welcome to join us if you’d like.”  
  
Hermione blushed furiously. “I’m so sorry, Professor - ” she began.  
  
“Nonsense, Hermione,” McGonagall replied warmly, “But I would like to meet with you later this afternoon to discuss arrangements that will accommodate these – new developments.” Her lips twitched slightly. “I suppose if there was any way to make ‘love’ a life or death requirement, you would be the wizard to discover it, Sirius Black.”   
  
Sirius gave the older witch a mischievous grin in reply and ushered Hermione out of the office, casting a look over his shoulder at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. ‘Thank you’ seemed like such a feeble expression for the gratitude he felt, but the old headmaster seemed to understand his hesitant smile well enough and simply nodded knowingly in return.   
  


~~ooOoo~~


End file.
